Bi 


LIBRARY 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

SANTA  BARBARA 


PRESENTED  BY 

MRS.  DONALD  KELLOGG 


THE 


QUEEN'S   NECKLACE; 


OR  THE 


SECRET  HISTORY  OF  THE  COURT  OF  LOUIS  XVI, 


BY  ALEXANDRE  DUMAS, 


TRANSLATED  BY  THOMAS  WILLIAMS,  ESQ, 


N  E  W  -  Y  O  R  K  : 
W.  P.  BURGESS,  22  ANN  STREET. 


1850. 


Entered  according  to  un  Act  of  Congress  in  the  year  1850. 

BY     W.     F.     BURGESS, 

In  the  Clerk's  OflBce  of  the  District  Court  for  the  Southern  District  of  New  York. 


THE    QUEEN'S    NECKLACE: 


OR, 


THE  MYSTERIES  OP  THE  COURT  OF  LOUIS  Xl'I. 


PROLOGUE. 


An  old  Nobleman  and  an  old  Major-dnmo 

IN  the  early  pint  of  the  month  of 
April  1734,  and  at  about  a  quarter  piisf 
three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  the  aged 
Marshnl  <li-  llirholi.'u,  our  old  acquain- 
tance, after  having  with  his  own  hands 
dyed  his  eyebrows  with  a  perfumed 
liquid,  pushed  from  before  him  a  hwnd- 
£las3  which  was  held  up  by  his  v.ilct  de 
chambre,  the  successor,  but  not  the 
equnl  of  the  faithful  Rafe,  and  shaking 
his  head  with  that  air  which  was  pecu- 
liar to  himself. 

•Come,  come,'  said  he,  -I  look  toler- 
able well  after  all.'  And  he  rose  from 
his  arm  chair  filliping  off  with  a  perfect- 
ly juvenile  gesture  tin;  minute  atoms  of 
u.ii,-  |)'i\v(!cr  which  had  fallen  from  his 
peruke  on  to  his  light  blue  velvet 
les.  Then  nfler  taking  two  or 
turns  in  his  dressing  closet 
stretching  forth  one  foot  and  straighten- 
ing his  knee  with  a  satisfied  air. 

•  C.iil  in,  major-domo,'  said  he. 
I'ivr  minutes  afterwards,    the  major- 
domo  entered  in  grand  costume. 

.Marshal  assumed  iis   serious  an 
i  avily  of  the  case  demanded. 
'.Sir,'  sail  li;-.  •  I  Mippose  that  you  have 
provided  ;\  good  dinner.' 

•  Why,  yes,  Monseigneur.' 

ut  to  you    the  list  of  my  guests, 
did  I  not  ?' 

•  And  I  have  carefully  noted  the  num- 
ber of  them,  Monseigneur.     Nine  per- 
sons in  all,  was  it  not  .'' 

•  Yes  sir,    but  there  are  dinners  and 
dinners.' 

'  Of  that  I  am  well  aware,  Monseig- 
neur,  but — ' 

The  Marshal  interrupted  the  major- 
domo  with  a  slight  gesture  of  impa- 
tience, tempered  however  with  dignity. 

'  But,  is  no  answer,  sir,  for  every  lime 
I  hear  the  word  but,  and  I  have  heard 
it  many  times  during  the  last  eighty 
years;  well,  sir,  every  time  I  have  heard 
that  word,  I  am  sorry  to  make  the  ob- 


servation, but  it  was  sure  to  be  the  fore-  * 
runner  of  some  gross  stupidity.' 

•  Mou seigneur !' 

•  First  of  all.  at  what  o'clock  am  I  to 
dine  ?' 

'  Citizens,  my  lord,-  dine  at  two  o'- 
clock, people  connected  with  the  law  at 
three,  the  nobility  at  four — ' 

'  And  I,  sir?' 

'  My  lord  will  dine  to-day  at  live  o' 
clock.' 

'  Oh  !  oh  !  at  five  o'clock  !' 

'  Yes,  my  lord,  as  the  King  does.' 

•  And  why  as  the  King  does  ?' 

'  Because,  upon  the  list  which  my 
lord  did  me  the  honor  to  transmit  to 
me,  there  is  the  name  of  a  king.' 

'  By  no  means,  sir ;  you  are  mis- 
taken ;  among  my  guests  to-day  there 
;ire  but  private  gentlemen.' 

'  My  lord,  is  pleased  doubtless  to  jest 
with  his  humble  .servant,  and  I  thank 
him  for  the  honor  he  does  me,  but  the 
Count  de  Haga  who  is  one  of  my  lord's 
guests ' 

•  Well  ?' 

'  Well  then,  the  Count  de  Haga  is  a 
king.' 

1  I  do  not  know  any  king  who  is  thus 
named,  sir.' 

'  My  lord  will  be  pleased  to  forgive 
me  then,  for  I  had  supposed — ' 

'  Your  mission  is  not  to  imagine,  your 
duty  is  not  to  suppose  !  What  you 
have  to  do  is  to  execute  the  orders  I 
may  give  you  without  adding  your  com- 
ments to  them.  When  I  wish  a  thing 
to  be  known  I  say  it ;  when  I  do  not  say 
it,  h  is  my  will  that  it  should  not  be 
known.' 

The  major-domo  bowed  a  second  lime 
and  on  this  occasion  perhaps  more  re- 
t'ully  than  had  he  been  speaking  to 
;i  ivigning  King. 

•Therefore,  sir,'  continued  the  old 
Marshal,  'you  will  have  the  goodneaa 
a-i  I  have  only  private  gentlemen  to  dine 
with  me,  to  allow  me  to  dine  at  my 
accustomed  hour,  four  o'clock-' 


THJ      ,  'II,  TIJK 


On  receiving  these  orders  the  brow  I 
of  tbo  major-domo  became  clouded  over 
is  if  6entence  of  death  had  been  pro- 
nounced against  him.  He  turned  pale 
and  trembled  under  the  unexpected 
blow.  Then  drawing  himself  up  with 
all  the  courage  of  despair : 

jipen  what  niny  please  heaven,' 
wiid  he,  resolutely,  'but  my  lord  will 
not  this  drfy  dine  before  five  o'clock.' 

'  How !  What  does  this  mean  ?'  cri- 
ed the  Marshal  drawing  himself  up 
fiercely. 

1  Because,  it  ia  materialy  impossible 
that  my  lord  can  dine  before  that  hour.' 

4  Sir,'  said  the  old  Marshal,  proudly 
shaking  his  head,  which  still  appeared 
young  and  energetic,  •  it  is  I  believe 
twenty  years  since  you  first  entered  my 
•ervice.' 

4  Twenty-one  years,  one  month  and 
two  weeks  over  and  above.' 

1  Well,  sir,  then  let  me  tell  you  that  to 
these  twenty-one  years,  one  month  and 
fourteen  days  you  shall  not  add  a  diiy, 
nay,  not  even  an  hour,  do  you  hear  inc.' 
said  the  old  man  pinching  up  his  thiii 
lips  and  knitting  his  dyed  eyebrows, 
4  from  this  evening  you  may  seek  an- 
other master.  I  will  not  'allow  the 
word  4  impossible  '  to  be  pronounced  in 
my  houae.  It  is  not  at  my  age  that  I 
will  begin  to  serve  an  apprenticeship  to 
that  word.  I  have  no  time  to  lose.' 

The  major-domo  bowed  a  third  time. 

4  This  evening  I  shall  take  leave  of 
my  lord  ;  but  at  least  my  duty  will  have 
been  decorously  fulfilled  up  to  the  last 
moment.  ' 

And  he  took  two  steps  backwards  to- 
wards the  door. 

•  What  do  you  mean  by  decorously?' 
cried  the  Marshal;  'please  to  remember 
sir,  that  tilings  are  to  be  done  here  ac- 
Hn-ding  to  my  will,  that  is  the  decorum 
I  insist  upon.      I  wish  to  dine  at  four 
o'clock,  and  it  is  not  decorous  that  you 
thould  make  me  dine  at  five.' 

*  My  lord,  Marshal,'  said  the  major-do- 
mo drily,  '  I  served  the   Prince  de  Sou- 

liutier,  the  Prince  de  Rohan  an 
imciukmt.  The  King  of  France  dined 
once  a  year  with  the  former.  With 
the  second  his  Majesty  the  Emperor  of 
Aueirin  dined  once  a  month.  I  there- 
fore know,  my  lord,  how  sovereigns 
should  be  treated.  It  was  in  viiin  that 
JVin^  Louis  XV.  called  himself  the 
Baron  de  Gonesse  when  at  the  house 
of  the  Prince  de  Soubise.  In  the 
houae  of  the  second,  that  is  to  say  the 
Prince  de  Rohan,  it  was  in  vain  that  the 
Juuueror  of  Austria  styled  himself  the 


Count  de  Packenstein  ;  he  was  still  the 
Emperor.  To-day  your  lordship  re- 
ceives a  guest  who  vainly  calls  himself 
the  Count  de  Haga  ;  the  Count  is  not 
any  the  less  King  of  Sweden.  I  wil 
leave  the  Hotel  of  your  lordship  this 
evening,  but  the  Count  de  Haga  shall  be 
received  as  a  king  !' 

'  And  this  is  precisely  what  I  am  rack- 
ing my  brain  to  prevent,  you  wrong- 
headed,  obstinate  man,'  cried  the  Mar- 
shal. 'The  Count  de  Haga  insists  on 
Jhe  strictest,  the  most  opaque  incognito. 
JJy  heavens !  I  fully  recognize  in  this 
your  stupid  vanity,  Sir  Knight  of  the 
Niipkin  !  It  is  not  a  crowned  head  that 
you  wish  to  honor,  it  is  your  own  sell- 
Jove  you  wish  to  glorify,  by  spending  a 
few  extra  crowns.' 

'  I  do  not  imagine,'  repliod  the  major- 
domo,  '  that  your  lordship  is  speaking 
seriously  when  he  talks  of  money.' 

'Surely  not,'  said  the  Marshal  almosi 
humiliated,  4it  is  not  with  regard  to 
money.  Who  the  deuse  spoke  to  you  of 
money  ?  Do  not  avoid  the  real  question 
in  thin  wny,  if  you  please.  I  tell  you 
again  that  I  will  not  allow  you  even  to 
suppose  that  a  king  is  to  be  here.' 

'  But  my  lord  Duke,  who  do  you  take 
me  for  '.'  Do  you  believe  that  I  could 
act  thus  blindly.  Why  not  a  word  will 
be  said  about  a  king  even  for  a  mo- 
ment.' 

'  Come,  come  !  do  not  be  obstinate 
and  let  us  have  our  dinner  at  four  o'- 
clock.' 

'  No,  my  lord,  no;  because  at  four  o'- 
clock something  that  I  am  expecting 
will  not  have  arrived.' 

'What  is  it  you  are  expecting?  a 
fish  I  suppose,  as  did  Mr.  Vatel.' 

4  Mr.  Vatel !  Mr.  Vatel  !*  muttered 
the  major-domo. 

4  How  !  are  you  shocked  at  the  com- 
parison ?' 

'  No ;  but  for  a  miserable  sword  thrust 
which  Mr.  Vatel  gave  himself  through 
the  body,  Mr,  Vatel  has  become  im- 
mortal.' 

4  And  you,  sir,  I  suppose  consider  thai 
your  brother  artist  paid  too  cheaply  for 
his  glory.' 

'No,  my  lord;  but  how  mnny  are 
there  in  our  profession  who  suffer  more 
than  he  did,  and  who  ore  compelled  to 
endure  sorrows  and  humiliations*!  thou- 
sand times  more  poignant  than  a  sword 
wound,  but  who  nevertheless  are  not 
immoitali/.euV 

4  But  do  you  not  know,  sir,  that  in  or- 
der to  be  immortalized  you  must  either 
belong  to  the  academy  or  be  duud  ?' 


MYSTERIES  OF  THE  COURT  OF  LOUIS  XVI. 


4  Oh  !  if  that  is  the  case,  my  lord,  it  is 
much  better  to  be  alive,  and  to  fulfil  one's 
•duty.  I  will  not  die,  and  my  service  shall 
be  duly  performed,  as  would  have  been 
thai  of  Mi'.  Vatel,  if  M.  de  Conde  had 
bud  pisiii'iice  to  wait  only  half  an  hour.' 

•a,  now  y.-u  are  promising  won- 
der- .y  cunning  of  you.' 

'No,  my  lord,  I  promise  no  wonders.' 

4  What  is  ir,  then,  you  are  expecting  ?' 

•  Doiv  my  lord  insisf.npon  my  telling 
him?' 

4  V  <\s,  really,  for  I  am  curious  to  know 

it.' 

'  Well,  then,  my  lord,  I  am  expecting 
H  bottle  of  wine.' 

4  A  bottle  of  wine !  explain  yourself, 
•sir;  this  begins  to  interest  rne.' 

'  This  is  the  whole  matter,  my  lord, 
his  Majesty  the  King  of  Sweden — I 
beg  your  pardon.  I  should  have  said 
his  Excellency  the  Count  de  Haga — 
never  drink*  any  wine  out  Tokay.' 

•  And  what  of"  that;  is  then  my  cellar 
M>  unprovided  ih.it  I  have  no  Takay  in 
it  ?     In  that  case,  I  must  at  once  dis- 
charge my  butler.' 

4  No,  my  lord,  for  on  the  contrary  you 
have  still  sixty  bottles  left.' 

1  Do  you  then  moan  to  say  that  the 
Count  de  H;>ga  will  drink  sixty-one  bot- 
tles at  his  dinner  ?' 

4  A  little  p;;iienco,  rny  lord ;  when  the 
Count  de  Hagtt  came  to  France  for  the 
first  time,  he  was  then  but  the  Prince 
Royal ;  on  that  occasion  he  dined  with 
the  late  King  who  had  received  u  dozen 
bottles  of  Tokay  from  his  Majesty  the 
Emperor  of  Austria.  The  first  quality  of 
Tokay  is  always  reserved  for  the  Em- 
peror's cellar.  i  her  sovereigns 
can  drink  of  that  quality  only  when  the 
Emperor  i-<  j/.  -u  I  it  to  them.' 
i  well  iiwarn  of  that.' 

4  Well  then,  my  lord,  of  those  twelve 
bottles  of  which  the  Prince  Royal  drank 
a  part  of  one,  un:l  t'.nni'l  it  exquisite,  of 
these  twelve  bottles  two  only  are  now 
existing.' 

•Oh!  oh!' 

4  One  of  them  is  still  in  the  cellar  of 
King  Louis  XVI.' 

•  And  the  <,ther  ?' 

•  Ah  !    that's    it.,  my  lord,'    cried  the 
major-domo   with   a  triumphant  smile, 
for  he  t'i:lt  thai,  .ifiur  the  long  battle  he, 
had  sustained  the  moment  of  victory  was 

*  close  at    hand;    •  the  other  !'  well,    the 
other  was  purloined.' 
4  And  by  whom  .'' 

me  of  my  friends,  the  butler  of 
the  lute  King,  who  was  under  great  ob- 


4  And  he  gave  it  to  you?' 

4  Most  certainly,  my  lord  ,'  replied 
the  major-domo,  drawing  himself  up 
proudly. 

4  And  what  did  you  do  with  it  ?' 

4 1  deported  it  most  carefully  in  my 
master's  cellar,  my  lord.' 

4  Your  master !  And  who  was  your 
master  at  that  time,  sir  ?' 

4  He  was  the  Marshal  Prince  Louis 
de  Rohan.' 

'  Oh  !  good  heaven,  at  Strasbourg.' 

4  At  Saver ne.' 

4  And  you  have  sent  to.  seek  that  bot- 
tle for  me !'  exclaimed  tn*e  old  Marshal. 

'  For  you,  my  lord,'  replied  the  ma- 
jor-domo, in  the  same  accent  as  he 
would  have  said  4  ungrateful  man.' 

The  Duke  de  Richelieu  seized  his  old 
servant's  hand,  exclaiming 

'  I  ask  your  pardon,  sir  ;  you  are  tb» 
king  of  major-domos !' 

'  And  you  have  discharged  me,'  ob- 
served ,the  latter  with  an  indescribable 
gesture  of  the  head  and  shoulders. 

'  Who,  I?  I  will  pay  you  a  hundred 
pistoles  for  that  bottle.'  *' 

'  And  a  hundred  more  which  the 
travelling  expenses  for  fetching  this  bot- 
tle will  amount  to,  making  two  hun- 
dred pistoles.  But,  my  lord  will  ac- 
knowledge that  it  is  far  beneath  its 
value.'  .r 

4 1  will  acknowledge  any  thing  you 
please,  sir:  in  the  meantime  from  this 
slay  I  will  double  your  salary.' 

4  Oh !  my  lord,  I  did  not  expect  this, 
I  have  only  done  my  duty.' 

4  And  when  is  your  hundred  pistole 
courier  to  arrive  ?' 

'  My  lord  will  be  able  to  judge  whe- 
ther I  have  lost  my  time.  On  what  day 
was  it,  my  lord,  that  you  ordered  this 
dinner?' 

4  Three  days  ago,  I  believe.' 

4  It  will  take  the  courier,  who  nuog 
fast,  twenty-four  hours  to  go  there  and 
twenty -four  hours  to  return.' 

4  Well,  you  had  twenty -four  hours  to 
spare,  my  prince  of  major-domos — hovf 
have  you  employed  them  ?' 

4  Alas  !  my  lord,  I  lost  them  altogeth- 
er: the  idea  did  not  strike  me  till  the 
day  after  you  gave  me  the  list  of  your 
guests.  Now,  then,  let  us  calculate  th*' 
time  required  for  uegociating,  and  you 
will  see,  my  lord,  that  by  asking  you  to 
delay  till  five  o'clock  I  only  asked  you 
the  time  which  was  absolutely  neces- 
sary." 

4  How  is  this ;  the  bottle  has  not  yai 
arrived  ?' 

4  No,  my  lord.' 


THE  QUEEN'S  NECKLACE;  OR,  THE 


•Good  heaven,  sir,  and  should    your       '  Yes,  but  he  will  set  out  immediately 


colleague  be  as  devoted  to  M.  de  Rohan, 
as  you  are  to  me,  —  ' 

•  Well,  my  lord  ?• 

'  And  if  he  were  to  refuse  to  deliver 
up  the  bottle,  as  you,  yourself  would 
have  refused  it?' 

1  Who  I,  my  lord.'  ••• 

•  Why  yes,  for  I  suppose  you  would 
not  give  up  such  a  bottle,  were  there 
on"  in  my  cellar.' 

*  '  I  humbly  beg  your  lordship's  pardon. 
If  one  of  my  colleagues  had  to  treat  a 
kin:;,  and  wen  to  ask  me  for  the  best 
bottle  of  wine'ln  your  lordship's  cellar, 
I  should  instantly  give  it  to  him.' 

'Ho!  ho!'  cried  the  marshal,  mak- 
ing a  slight  grimiici-. 

'  It  is  by  assisting  others,  that  we  ob- 
tain assistance  when  we  are  in  need, 
my  lord.' 

'  Well  then,  I  may  feel  tolerably  tran- 
quil on  the  subject.'  said  the  Marshal, 
slightly  sighing,  '  but  still  we  have  acci- 
dents to  fear.' 

'  What  accidents,  my  lord  ?' 
'  If  the  bottle  should  be  broken  !' 
'  Oh  !  my  lord,  no  man  ever  yet  broke 
a  bottle  worth  two  thousandl  ivres.' 

•  1  was  wrong  ;  we  will  not  say  anoth- 
er word  of  accident.     And  now  then, 
at  what  time  will  your  courier  arrive  ?' 

'  Pr<icv'?iy  at  four  o'clock.' 

•  A  in  i  i    is  to   prevent   our 
dining   at   four   u'rlnck  ?'    rejoined   the 
Marshal,  us  obstinate  as  a  Castilian  mule. 

'  My  lord,  it  will  require  a  good  hour 
for  my  wine  to  settle,  and  even  that 
could  not  be  accomplished  were  it  not 
for  a  process  of  which  I  am  the  invent- 
or :  were  it  not  for  that  it  would  require 
three  days.' 

Defeated  once  more  upon  this  ground, 
the  Marshal  beat  a  rctrcnl  hv  giving  a 
sign  to  his  major-domo  that,  he  had 
done  with  him. 

'Moreover.'  said  r  .  'your 

guests,  \vlio  l.i,u\\  they  are  ID  have  the 
honor  of  dining  \\;ih  tlm  (loimtde  Ha- 


g 
f 


a,    will   mil   assemble   before    half-past 


our  o'clock.' 

'Tin;  is  quite  anotln-r  story.' 

'Undoubtedly,  m_>  ionl:  ynur  guests 
are  the  Count  de  Luumiy,  Madame  the 
Countess  Dubarry,  M.  de  la  Perouse, 
M.  de  Favras,  M.  de  Condorcet,  M.  de 
Cagliostro,  and  M.  de  Taverney.  ' 

'  And  what  then  /' 

'Well,  my  lord,  let  us  proceed  indue 
order.  M.  de  Launay  comes  from  the 
Bastille  on  the  other  side  of  Paris. 
which  will  require,  from  the  ice  on  the 
roads,  three  hours.' 


after  the  prisoners'  dinner  hour,  that  is  to 
say,  twelve  o'clock.    I  know  that  well  ?' 

'  I  beg  your  pardon,  my  lord  ;  but 
since  your  lordship  was  at  the  Bastille 
the  dinner  hour  has  been  changed. 
The  Bastille  dines  at  one  o'clock.' 

'  We  learn  something  every  day,  sir, 
I  am  obliged  by  the  information-  (!o 
on,  sir.' 

'  Madame  Du  Barry  comep  from 
Luciennes,  it  is  down  hill  all  the  way 
and  the  road  covered  with  sheet  ice.' 

'  That  will  not  hinder  her  from  being 
punctual,  and  as  she  is  now  the  favorite 
of  only  one  duke,  she  does  not  play  tho 
queen  excepting  with  the  barons.  But 
understand  this  in  your  turn,  sir,  that  I 
wished  to  dine  early  on  account  of  M. 
de  la  Perouse,  who  has  to  set  out  this 
evening  and  would  not  like  to  be  do 
layed.' 

'  My  lord,  M.  de  la  Perouse  is  with 
the  King,  and  is  conversing  on  geogra- 
phy and  cosmography  with  his  majes- 
ty. The  King  will  not  allow  M.  de  la 
Perouse  to  leave  him  early.' 

'  That  is  possible.' 

'It  is  certain,   my  lord.      The   same 
thing  will  happen  as   to  M.  Favras  who 
is  with  the  Count  de  Provence,  and  who 
will  doubtless  be  talking  of  Mr.  Beau 
marchfds  last  comedy.' 

'  The  Marriage  of  Figaro?' 

*  Yes,  my  lord.' 

1  Do  you  know,  sir,  you  are  quite  » 
man  of  letters.' 

'  In  my  spare  moments,  I  read,  my 
lord.' 

'  Then  there  is  M.  de  Condorcet,  who 
in  his  quality  of  geometrician,  may  de 
sire  to  appear  punctual.' 

'  Yes,  but  he  will  be  bewildering  him- 
self in   some  deep   calculation,  and  b> 
fore  he    ,'•  ts  out  of  it  he  will  find   hiu. 
sell'  hull'  an  hour  behind  his  time.        V^ 
to  the  Count  do   Cagliostro,  as  that    no 
blemau  is  a  foreigner  and  has  not  live. I 
long  in    Pan's,    i,  is   probable   that   he  in 
not  well  acquainted  with  our  Versailles 
mode  of  life,  and  that  he  will  be  late  too.' 

'Well,  well!'  said  the  Marshal,  'you 
have  with  the  exception  of  Taverney 
naniei'  all  my  guests,  and  that  in  an  or 
der  of  enumeration  worthy  of  Homer, 
or  of  my  poor  RatV  .' 

The  major-domo  bowed. 

'  I  did  not  mention  M.  de  Taverney 
because  ho  is  an  old  friend  who  will 
conform  to  custom.  I  believe,  my  lord, 
these  eight  are  all  the  guests,  is  it  not  so  ?' 

'Perfectly  right,  und  where  do  you 
intend  that'we  shall  dine  ?' 


MYSTERIES  OF  THE  COUR1  Ut   LOUIS  XVI. 


•  In  the  grand  dining  room,  my  lord.' 

•  But  we  shall  freeze  there.' 

•  I  have  had  it  warmed  for  the  last 
three  days,  and  have  regulated  the  at- 
mosphere at  eighteen  degress.' 

•  Very   well :    but  the   half  hour  is 
striking.' 

The  Marshal  threw  a  glance  at  the 
clock,  on  the  chimney  piece. 

1  It  is  half  past,  four,  sir.' 

4  Yes,  my  lord,  and  I  hear  a  horse 
galloping  into  the  court  yard;  that  is 
my  bottle  of  Tokay.' 

'  May  I  be  served,  for  twenty  years  to 
come,  in  the  same  way,'  said  the  old 
Marshal  turning  to  his  looking-glass, 
while  the  major-domo  hastened  to  re- 
« eivo  his  courier. 

'  Twenty  years  !'  cried  a  joyous  voice 
which  stopped  the  Duke  just  as  he  gave 
the  first  look  at  the  mirror,  '  twenty 
years  !  my  dear  Marshal,  I  most  fervent- 
ly svish  you  them ;  but  then  I  shnll  be 
sixty.  Duke,  and  shnll  be  very  old.' 

'What  you,  countess,' cried  the  duke, 
'you  the  first!  Good  heaven,  how 
beautiful  and  fresh  you  always  look.' 

1  Rather  say  frozen.  Duke.' 

•I  beg  you  will  step  into  the  boudoir.' 

'Oh!  a  tete  a  tete,  Marshal.' 

•  It   will  be  of  three    then,'    cried   a 
rough  cracked  voice. 

•Taverney."  exclaimed  the  Marshal, 
the  deu.se  take  the  interloper,  how  very 
inapropos,'  he  continued  whispeiinginto 
the  Marchioness  ear. 

'  f'o.xcomb  !'  murmured  Madame  Du- 
barry,  bursting  into  a  loud  laugh  and  they 
all  three  went  into  an  adjoining  room. 

l-\   Pi: ROUSE. 
. 

At  the  same  moment  the  hollow  rum- 
bling of  several  carriages  over  the  pave- 
rni-iiv  ti.icivly  covered  with  snow,  warn- 
ed the  Marshal  of  tin:  arrival  of  his 
guests ;  and  soou  afterwards,  thanks  to 
t.he  punctuality  of  his  major-domo,  the 
Marshal  and  his  eight  friends  were  com- 
fortably seated  at  an  oval  table  in  the 
<•:•»•  •-,!  dining  hull.  Nine  servants  as  ^si- 
lent as  shadows,  active  without  bustle, 
nite nt ive  without  being  troublesome, 
glided  over  the  carpet,  passed  between 
the  guests  without  jostling  the  elbow s 
of  any  one  of  them,  or  touching  their ! 
arm  charms.  These  chairs  were  bed-  j 
ded  in  deep  furs  in  which  the  legs  of  j 
the  guests  plunged  up  to  the  knees. 

Thus   luxuriously   were   seated    the  I 
friends  of  the  Marshal,  in  an  atmosphere  ! 
tempered  by  the  mild  and  well  adjusted 
heat  of  the  stoves,   while  they  inhaled 


the  savory  odours  of  the  exquisitely 
prepared  viands,  the  aroma  of  the  costly 
wines,  and  after  taking  soup  began  a 
conversation  in  low  murmurs. 

No  noise  was  heard  from  without, 
for  the,'  shutters  were  all  wadded ;  not 
the  slightest  noise  within  excepting  that 
made  by  the  guests  themselves  ;  plates 
were  changed  without  jingling  against 
each  other,  forks  and  spoons  brought  to 
the  table  without  n  single  vibration:  thn 
major-dorno's  presence  could  not  be 
tected  by  the  least  whisper,  he  gave  his 
order  with  his  eyes. 

And  consequently  in  about  ten  min- 
utes the  guests  might  have  imagined 
themselves  completely  alone  in  the  vast 
apartment ;  and  in  fact  servants  so  mute, 
slaves  altogether  so  impalpable  could 
not  be  otherwise  than  deaf. 

M.  de  Richelieu  was  the  first  to  break 
the  solemn  silence  which  usually  reigna 
during  the  time  of  eating  soup,  by  say- 
ing to  his  right-hand  neighbour, 

'  Your  lordship  the  Count  does  not 
drink.' 

The  person  to  whom  these,  words 
were  addressed  was  a  man  about  thirty- 
eight  years  old,  fair  hair>  1.  low  in 
stature  but  rather  high  shouldered ;  his 
eyes  very  light  blue  ;  sometimes  spark- 
ling but  more  frequently  melancholy  ; 
nobility  was  stamped  in  urrthistakeable 
characters  on  his  expansive  and  shining 
forehead. 

'  I  drink  only  water,  Marshal,'  he  re- 
plied. 

'  Excepting  at  the  table  of  King  Lou 
is  XV,'  said  the  Duke,   'I  had  the  hon- 
or of  dining  there   with  you,  my  lord 
Count,  and  on  that  occasion  you  conde- 
scended to  drink  wine.1 

'  You  recall  to  my  mind  a  very  pleaa- 
ing  remembrance,  Marshal;  that  waa 
in  1771,  and  the  wine  I  drank  wsis  To- 
kay of  the  imperial  vintage.' 

'It  was  precisely  the  -^nn--  w:;m  that 
my  major-domo  is  now  about  to  have 
the  honor  of  p>  you,  iny 

lord  Count,'  replied  Kichlien  bo\\ 

The  Count,  de   Haga  raised    tli 
to  the    level  of  the  wax    light?-        > 
amined  the   wine  as  it  sparkled  in       •» 
richly  cut  crystal,  like  liquid  rubies. 

'  It  is  really  the  same  wine.    M 
said  he.     'Thanks!  thanks!' 

'  And  the  Count  pronounced  the  word 
thanks  in  atone  so  noble  and  so  ,v  nioioua 
that  all  present  ro.se  as  if  electrified  by 
a  spontane  ms  movement,  exclaiming. 

'  Long  .ive  the  Kiti£  !' 

•'Tin  well  aaid,'  re.j  lieu  the  Count  de 
'Long  live  hi    majesty  the  King 


THE  QUEEN'S  NECKLACE ;  OR,  THE 


of  Frinice.     Are  you  not  of  my  opinion, 
Monsieur  de  la  Perouse.' 

1  My  lord  Count,'  rejoined  the  Captain 
will  the  caressing  but  at  the  same  time 
respectful  tone  of  a  man  accustomed  to 
address  crowned  heads,  'I  left  the  King 
only  an  hour  ago,  and  he  was  so  full  of 
goodness  towards  me  that  no  one  in  the 
world  would  ciy  more  loudly  than  I 
would  "Long  live  the  King."  But  as  an 
hour  hence  I  shall  be  travelling  post  to 
reach  the  sea  shore,  where  the  King 
has  placed  two  ships  at  my  disposal,  I 
will  ask  your  permission,  so  soon  as  I 
shall  have  left  this  company  to  cry 
44  Long  live  another  King,  whom  I  should 
be  proud  to  serve  had  I  not  so  good  a 
master.'"  And  raising  his  glass  -M.  de 
la  Perouse  with  much  humility  bowed 
to  the  Count  de  Haga. 

'  The  health  which  you  wish  to 
drink,'  said  Madame  Du  Barry  who  was 
seated  to  the  left  of  the  Marshal,  « we 
are  all  ready  to  do  honor  to.  But,  nev- 
ertheless, it  ought  to  be  proposed  by 
the  oldest  member  present  as  they  say 
in  parliament.' 

'  Is  it  tp  you,  Tnverney,  or  to  me  that 
this  re  mar'-  applies,'  said  the  Marshal 
laughing,  and  looking  cunningly  at  his 
old  friend. 

'I  do  not  believe  it  can  be  to  either,' 
snid  a  new  sp&aker  who  was  sitting  op- 
posite to  the  Marshal  de  Richelieu. 

4  What  is  it  you  do  not  believe,  M. 
Cagliostro,'  said  the  Count  de  Haga, 
fixing  a  piercing  glance  on  the  interlo- 
cutor. 

'I  do  not  believe,  my  lord  Count,'  re- 
plied Cagliostro,.  bowing,  '  that  M.  de 
Richelieu  is  the  senior  of  this  company.' 

4  Oh !  this  is  as  it  should  be,'  said  the 
M  arshal,  4  it  appears  then  it  must  be 
you,  Taverney.' 

4  Oh  !  I  dare  say;  why  I  am  eight  years 
younger  than  you  are — I  was  born  in 
1704,'  replied  the  old  nobleman. 

4  Rude  fellow  !'  cried  the  Marshal, 
4  why  ho  is  proclaiming  to  every  one 
that  I  am  eighty-eightyears  old.' 

4  Can  it  be  really  true,  Duke,  that  you 
are  eighty-eight  years  old  !'  cried  M.  de 
Condorcet. 

•  Yes,  by  heaven  !  and  the  calculation 
is-  '•;{>)  ly  made,  therefore  unworthy  of  an 
algebrist  of  your  capacity,  Marqnis.  I 
am  of  the  last  century,  the  great  century 
as  it  is  called — I  am  of  1696, — there  is 
a  date  for  you.' 

4  Impossible  !'  said  De  L:mnay. 

'If  your  father  were   •  iy  good 

governor    oi'    the    Hastil!."/   replied    do 
Richelieu,  'lie  '.vi;uM  not  exclnim '4  Im- 


possible," he  who  had  me  as  a  boarder 
there  in  1714.' 

4  The  senior  here  present  I  declare 
to  be,'  said  M.  de  Favres,  4  the  wine 
which  the  Count  de  Haga  is  now  pouring 
into  his  glass.' 

4  Tokay  one  hundred  and  twenty  yews 
old;  you  are  quite  right  M.  de  Karros,' 
replied  the  Count.  4  To  this  Tokay  be 
adjudged  the  honor  of  proposing  tho 
King's  health.' 

'  One  moment,  gentlemen,  if  you 
please,'  said  Cagliosrro,  raising  his 
handsome  face,  beaming  with  energy 
and  intelligence,  4 1  claim  the  right.' 

4  You  dispute  the  claim  of  seniority 
with  the  Tokay ."  cried  all  the  other 
guests  in  chorus. 

4  Assuredly;'  calmly  replied  the 
Count  de  Cagliostro,  4  for  it  was  .1  my- 
self who  sealed  that  bottle.' 

•You?' 

4  Yes,  I ;  and  on  the  day  that  Monte- 
cuculi  gained  a  victory  over  the  Turks 
in  1664.' 

An  immense  shout  of  laughter  burst 
forth  on  hearing  these  words  which 
Cagliostro  had  pronounced  with  imper- 
turbable gravity. 

4  By  this  calculation,  sir,'  said  Ma- 
dame Du  Barry,  4  you  must  then  be  nt 
least  one  hundred  and  thirty,  for  I  will 
allow  that  you  could  not  have  been  less 
than  ten  years  old  when  you  put  this 
good  wine  into  that  great  bottle.' 

1 1  was  more  than  ten  years  old,  ma- 
dam, when  I  performed  that  operation, 
for  only  two  days  afterwards  I  had  the 
honor  of  being  appointed  by  his  majesty. 
Ihe  Emperor  of  Austria,  to  congratulate 
Montecuculi,  who  by  the  victory  at 
Saint  Gothard,  had  avenged  the  unfor- 
tunate day  of  Especk  in  Sclavonica ;  a 
day  on  which  the  unbelievers  ao  com- 
pletely defeated  the  Imperialists,  my 
friends  and  my  companions  in  arms  in 
the  year  1536.' 

•Ah."  said  the  Count  de  Haga  with 
as  much  coolness  as  Cagliostro,  'thia 
gentleman  must  necessarily  have  been 
ten  years  old,  since  he  was  personally, 
present  at  that  memorable  battle.' 

4  It  was  a  frightful  defeat,  my  lord 
Count,'  rejoined  Cugliostro  bowing. 

4  Less  cruol,  however^than  the  defeat 
of  Cressy,'  observed  Condorcet  smiling. 

4  That,  i.s  true,'  auid  Cagliostro,  also 
smiling,  '  the  defeat  at  Cressy  was 'ter- 
rible indeed,  for  it  was  not  merely  an 
army,  but  all  France  that  was  there 
ii.  llul  w«  must  idso  allow  that 
th»:  victory  was  not  a  very  loyal  one  on 
the  part  of  England.  King  Edward  had 


MYSTERIES  OF  THE  COURT  OF  LOUIS  XVI. 


cannon,  u  circumstance  of  which  Philip 
de  Valois  was  totally  ignorant  ;  or  I 
should  say  rather,  a  circumstance  which 
Philip  de  Valois  would  not  believe,  al- 
though I  had  warned  him  of  it,  for  I 
told  him  that  I  had  seen  these  four 
pieces  of  artillery,  with  my  own  eyes, 
and  that  Edward  had  bought  them  of 
the  Venetians/ 

4  Ah!  ah!'  cried  Madame  Du  Barry, 
'  then  you  were  acquainted  with  Philip 
de  Valois  ?' 

4  Madam,  I  had  the  honor  of  being 
one  of  the  five  noblemen  who  escorted 
him  on  his  leaving  the  field  of  battle,' 
replied  Cagliostro,  'I  had  come  to 
France  with  the  poor  old  King  of  Bohe- 
mia, and  who  caused  himself  to  be  killed 
the  moment  he  heard  that  all  was  lost.' 

'Ah  !  good  heaven,  sir,'  said  La  Pi  - 
rouse,  'you  cannot  imagine  how  much 
I  regret  that  instead  of  your  having  been 
present  at  the  battle  of  Cressy,  you 
were  not  so  at  the  battle  of  Antium.' 

'And  why  so,  sir?' 

•Oh!  because  you  might  have  given 
me  some  nautical  details  with  regard  to 
it,  which,  notwithstanding  the  admirable 
narrative  of  Plutarch,  have  always  ap- 
peared to  me  as  rather  obscure.' 

'  And  what  are  they,  sir  ?  I  should 
be  happy  could  I  be  of  any  use  to  you.' 

'  You  were  there,  then  ? ' 

'  No,  sir ;  for  I  was  at  that  time  in 
Egypt ;  I  had  been  commissioned  by 
Queen  Cleopatra  to  reorganize  the  li- 
brary at  Alexandria,  a  work  I  was  more 
fitted  for  than  any  other  person,  having 
.  been  personally  acquainted  with  the 
best  authors  of  antiquity.' 

'  And  you  have  seen  Queen  Cleopa- 
tra, M.  de  Cagliostro  '?'  exclaimed  the 
Countess  Du  Barry. 

'  As  I  now  see  you,  madam.' 

'  Was  she  as  beautiful  as  has  been 
represented  ?' 

'  You  are  well  aware,  Countess,  that 
beauty  is  altogether  u  relative  ali'air, 
though  a  charming  Queen  in  Egypt, 
Cleopatra,  in  Paris,  would  have  been 
but  an  adorable  grisette.' 

'  Do  not  speak  ill  of  our  grisettes, 
Count.' 

'  Heaven  preserve  me  from  it !' 

'  And  so  Cleopatra  was — ' 

'  Short,  thin,  lively,   wi;ty,  with  large 
eyes  of   an  almond    shape,    a  Grecian 
nose,  pearl-like   teeth,  and  a   hand  like 
yours,  madam;  a  hand  truly  fit  to  wield  ' 
a  sceptre.     See  nowhere  is  a  diamond  j 
which  she  gave  me,  and  which  she  had  ; 
from   her  brother  Ptolemy  ;  she    wore  | 
k  on  her  thumb.' 


.  '  On  her  thumb  ?'  exclaimed  Madame 
Du  Barry. 

'  Yes  ;  it  was  the  Egyptian  fashion  ; 
and  you  see  it  is  with  difficulty  that  I 
can  get  it  on  my  little  finger.' 

And  drawing  off  the  ring  he  present- 
ed it  to  Madame  Du  Barry. 

'  It  was  a  magnificent  diamond,  which 
might  be  worth,  so  marvellously  fine 
was  its  water,  ao  beautiful  was  its  cut, 
from  thirty  to  forty  thousand  livres.  The 
diamond  was  passed  round  the  table  and 
returned  to  Cagliostro  who  very  tran- 
quilly re-placed  it  on  his  finger. 

4  Ah  !  I  see,'  said •>•  he,  '  that  you  are 
incredulous,  fatal  incredulity,  which  I 
have  had  to  combat  all  my  life  :  Phil- 
lip de  Valois  would  not  believe  me 
when  I  advised  him  to  allow  Edward  to 
retreat ;  Cleopatra  would  not  believe 
me  when  I  tpld  her  that  Anthony  would 
be  defeated  ;  the  Trojans  would  not  be- 
lieve me  when  I  told  them  with  regard 
to  the  wooden  horse  "  Cassandra  is  in- 
spired, listen  to  Cassandra."  ' 

•  Oh  !   but  this  is  positively  marvel- 
lous.' cried  Madame  Du   Barry,  almost 
beside  herself  with  laughter,    '  and  re- 
ally, I   have  never   before   met  a   man 
who  is  at  once  so  serious  and  so  amus- 
ing as  you  are.' 

4 1  can  assure  you,'  said  Cagliostro 
bowing,  '  that  Jonathajrtsvas  much  more 
amusing  than  I  am.  Oh!  what  a  de- 
lightful companion  ?'  So  much  did  I 
fee!  it  that  I  was  nearly  deprived  of 
reason  when  Saul  killed  him  !' 

•  Do  you   know,  that  if  you  go  on  in 
this   way,    Count,'    said  the   Duke   de 
Richelieu,  '  that  you  will  drive  my  poor 
de  Taverney   .stark  mad,    for   he  is   so 
much  afraid  of  death,  that  he  is  staring 
at  you  with  amazed  eyes,  believing  you 
to  be   immortal.     Come   now,  tell  us, 
are  .you  really,  you  or  no  ?' 

4  Immortal  ?' 

'  Immortal.' 

'  Of  that  I  know  nothing  ;  but  this  1 
know  and  can  affirm — ' 

4  What  is  it  ?'  .said  Taverney,  who 
was  the  mos^nger  of  all  the  listeners. 

'  That  I  hare  seen  all  I  have  related, 
and  have  consorted  with  all  the  persons 
j,J4iuve  just  cited/ 

4  You  were  personally  acquainted 
with  Montecuculli  ?' 

'  As  I  am  acquainted  with  you,  Mon- 
sieur de  Favres,  and  even  more  inti- 
mately ;  for  it  is  only  the  third  or  fourth 
time  that  I  have  had  the  honor  of  meet- 
ing you,  whereas  I  lived  nearly  a  whole 
year  under  the  same  tent  with  the  skill- 
ful strategist  of  whom  we  are  speaking.' 


10 


THK  (JUKKN'S   NKCKLACK:  OR.  TMK 


'  You  knew  Phillip  de  Vulois  ?' 
'  As  I  ha\e  had  the  honor  to  tell  you. 
Monsieur  dc  Condorcet ;  but  when  he 
re-en! ered  Paris.  I  left  France  and   re- 
turned to  Bohemia.' 
'  C|eu|     : 

1  Yes.  my  lady  Countess,  Cleopatrn. 
1  told  you  that  lier  eyes  were  black  as 
3'ours  are,  and  her  bust  was  almost  HS 
beautiful  as  your^." 

'  But,  Count,  you  know  ubt  what  my 
bust  is  ' 

'  Pivci.-ely  like  that  of  Cleopatra,  and 
that  nothing  should  be  wanting  to  the 
resemblance,  she  Jfftd  as  you  have,  or 
you  have  as  she  had,  a  small  black  mole 
above  the  sixth  left  rib." 

•  Oh  .'  really,  Count,  no^v  I  must  say 
ymi  are  a  sorcerer  !' 

•  By  no  means,    Marchioness,'   cried 
the   Duke   de    Richelieu   laughing,    '  it 
was  I  who  told  him  that.' 

'  And  how  came  you  to  know  it  ?' 
The  Duke  pouted  out  his  lips. 

•  Hem  !'  said   he,  '  that   ie  a   family 
secret.' 

'Oh!    mighty   well,     mighty    well.": 
said    Madame  Du   Barry.     '  Upon   my 
word,    Marshal,    one    should    lay    on  a 
double  coat  of  rouge  on  coming  to  visit 
you.' 

Then  turning  to  Cagliostro. 

•  In  truth,  then,  sir,  you  Inne  tue  se- 
cret of  renr  \s  i HIT  youth,  for  being  some 
three  or  four  thousand  yearn  old.  which 
you  must  hi-,    oiii-  would   scarce    think 
you  forty.' 

I    have      the    secret    of     renewing 
youth.1 

'  Oh  !  then  make  me  young  again/ 

•  You,  madam  ?     That  would  indeed 
be  unnecessary:  the  miracle  is  already 
performed.       Our  age  is.  that  which  we 
appear  to  have    attained,    and  you   are 
not  more  than  thirty.' 

'That  is  mere  compliment.' 
'  No,  madam,   it  is  a  fuct.' 

•  Kx  press  yourself.' 

'Nothing  can  be  more  ea>\ .  You 
have  made  use  of  my  pro< 

'  And  how  so  ?' 

'  Yotfnave  taken  my  elixir.' 
(  " 

1  Yen,  you,  yourself,  Countess.     ( 
you  have  nut  forgotten  it.' 

'  Oh  '    that  i'or  e\;,mple  !' 

•  Countess,  do  you  remember  a  house 
in  the  Ki,  '      I  ;o  3  on  re- 
member coining  to  that  house  on  a  cer- 
tain affair   regarding    M.  dc    Sariiries? 
Do  you  remember  having  hcei,  of 
service   to  one   of   my    friend?-,    named 
Joseph  Balna mo  ?       Do  you   remember 


that  Joseph  Balsamo  made  you  a  pre- 
sent of  a  phial  of  elixir,  recommending 
you  to  take  three  drops  of  it  every 
morning  ?  Do  you  remember  having 
i"e'!-\M  d  his  prescription  until  last  year, 
at  v.  liich  time  the  contents  of  the  phial 
sveiv  e\hiu.i8led  ?  If,  Countess,  you  no 
longer  remember  all  this,  why  really  it 
would  not  be  mere  forgetfulness,  but. 
sheer  ingratitu-!  ." 

'Oh!  Monsieur  de  Cagliostro,  3'ou 
are  really  telling  me  things — ' 

'Which  c;;n  be  known  only  to  your- 
self, that  I  am  well  aware  of.  But  in 
what  would  the  merit  of  a  sorcerer  con- 
sist, if  he  did  not  know  the  secrets  of 
lii.-  neighbor  ?' 

'But Joseph  Balsomo  must  have  pos- 
sessed then  as  you  do,  the  receipt  for 
this  admirable  elixir  ?' 

'  No,  madam  ;  but  as  lie  was  one  of 
my  best  friends,  I  had  given  him  three 
or  four  phials  of  it.' 

'  And  has  he  any  still  remaining  ?' 

'  Oh !  that  I  know  not.  For  three 
years  past  poor  Balsamo  has  disappear- 
ed. The  last  time  I  suw  him  was  in 
America,  on  the  banks  of  the  Ohio  ;  he 
was  then  setting  out  on  an  expedifioi. 
to  the  Rocky  Mountains,  und  since  theu 
I  have  heard  that  he  is  dead.' 

'  Come,  come,  Count,'  cried  the 
Marshal.  '  »  truce  to  gallantry  for  mer- 
cy'.-; >ake.  The  secret.  Count,  the  se- 
cret.' 

•Aroyou  speaking  seriously,  sir? 
asked  the  Count  de  Haga.' 

'Very  seriously,  Sire— -oli  !  pardon 
me,  I  should  have  said  my  lord  Count.' 

And  Cagliostre  bowed  in  u  manner 
which  indicated  that  the  error  he  had 
committed  was  altogether  voluntary. 

•Tims,'  said  the  Marshal,  •  the  ' 

tot  old  enough  to  ha\e  her  youth 
renewed  ?' 

•No,  in  all  conscience.' 

•  Well,  then,  I    will   present    another 
subject    to    you.      Here    is    my    frieini 
Tavern. -y.       What    s;.\    you    of   him  .' 
ILu-  he  not  'he   air  oi'  being  n  ct.nt.  Hi- 
porar)  wiih  I'ontius  Pilate  /      But  per- 
hl<p.-  he.  on  the  contnirv.  i-  too  ol,l  ." 

Caglios>;ro  looked  at  ihc  H.iron. 

•  No.  he  i-  not.'  said  he. 

•Ah!  my  dear  Count.'  exclaimed 
llirh.-ii.-ii.  •  if  you  can  make  him  young 
a^ain.  !  N»iil  pn-cLim  von  a  pupil  ot 
Medei  .' 

;,  mi    de>ire    i;  /'  inquired  Cagli- 
0^1,0,  iiddi'es.-in^  the  words  to  ;lie  ma> 

nd.  by  his  looks,  the 
'lie   (  omp::ny. 
Tin  .  ...   iiffirniative. 


MYSTERIES  OF  THE  COURT  OF  LOUIS  XVI. 


11 


«  And  you  also,  Monsieur  de  Taver- 
ney 

'  Who,  I  ?  More  than  any  of  them, 
by  heaven,'  cried  the  Baron. 

'  Well,  then,  it  is  easily  done,'  re- 
joined Cagliostro. 

Then,  slipping  two  fingers  into  his 
waistcoat  pocket,  he  drew  forth  a  small 
octagonal  bottle. 

Then  he  took  a  clean  crystal  glass 
and  poured  a  few  dropa  of  the  liquor 
contained  in  the  small  bottle  into  it. 
K.  Then  mixing  these  few  drops  in  half 
a  glass  of  iced  champaigne,  he  handed 
the  beverage  so  prepared  to  the  Baron. 
All  eyes  were  following  his  every 
motion  ;  eveiy  mouth  was  gaping  with 
expectation 

The  Baron  took  the  glass ;  but  the 
moment  he  placed  it  to  his  lips  he  hesi- 
tated. 

Every  one  on  observing  this  hesita- 
tion laughed  so  vociferously,  that  Cagli- 
ostro became  impatient. 

'  Drink  quickly,  Baron,'  said  he,  '  or 
you  will  waste  a  liquor  every  drop  of 
which  is  worth  a  hundred  louis.' 

'  The  deuse  !'  said  Richelieu  endeav- 
oring to  be  witty,  '  that  is  something 
more  valuable  than  even  my  Tokay.' 

•  I  must  drink  it  then  ?'  inquired  the 
Baron,  almost  trembling. 

1  Or  pass  the  glass  to  another,  sir,  that 
the  elixir  may  be  useful  to  some  one  at 
all  events.' 

'Pass  it  to  me,' said  the  Duke  de 
Richelieu,  holding  forth  his  hand. 

The  Baron  smelled  at  the  glass,  and 
decided,  doubtless,  by  its  balsamic  and 
fragrant  odor,  by  the  beautiful  rosy 
tinge  which  the  few  drops  of  the  elixir 
had  communicated  to  the  champagne, 
he  swallowed  the  magic  draught. 

At  the  sarn«  moment,  it  seemed  to 
him  that  a  shudder  ran  through  his 
whole  being,  causing  the  torpid  blood 
then  slumbering  in  his  veins  to  rush 
towards  the  epidermis.  His  wrinkled 
Bkin  became  smooth,  his  opaque  eyes, 
over  which  the  lids  hung  loosely  became 
dilated ;  the  pupils  became  large  and 
sparkling ;  his  hands  which  before 
trembled  like  an  aspen  leaf  became  at 
once  steady  and  firm  ;  his  voice  regain- 
ed its  strength,  and  his  knees  became 


through  the  apartments.  Taverney, 
who  before  had  only  mumbled  his  food, 
suddenly  felt  a  devouring  appetite.  He 
seized  a  plate,  knife  and  fork,  and  help- 
ing himself  to  a  repast  of  partridges 
which  was  standing  at  his  left  hand, 
ate  enormously  of  it,  champing  bones 
and  all,  and  declaring  that  he  felt  that 
his  teeth  were  as  good  as  when  only 
twenty  years  old. 

He  ate,  he  laughed,  he  drank  and 
shouted  with  delight  for  about  half  an 
hour ;  and  during  this  half  hour  the 
other  guests  remained  gazing  at  him  in 
perfect  stupefaction  ;  then  by  degrees 
he  failed  like  a  lamp  the  oil  of  which  is 
gradually  exhausting.  First  of  all,  his 
forehead,  from  which  the  former  wrin- 
kles has  disappeared,  again  became 
furrowed  with  deep  and  new  ones ;  his 
eyes  became  dim,  the  eyelids  heavy  as 
before.  He  lost  his  taste  ;  his  shoul- 
ders became  stooping.  His  appetite 
was  gone,  his  knees  began  once  moro 
to  tremble. 

'  Oh  !'  he  exclaimed  with  a  groan. 

*  What  is  the  matter  ?'  enquired  all 
the  guests. 

'  Alas  !  farewell  again  to  youth  ." 

And  he  heaved  a  deep  sigh  accom- 
panied by  two  big  tears,  which  trickled 
down  his  cheeks. 

Instinctively  at  the  sorrowful  aspect 
of  the  valetudinarian  to  whom  youth 
had  suddenly  returned  but  who  from 
the  striking  contrast  had  now  apparent- 
ly become  older  than  before,  a  sigh 
similar  to  that  uttered  by  Taverney  es- 
caped the  breast  of  every  one  of  the 
guests. 

'  All  this  is  very  natural,  gentlemen,' 
said  Cagliostro.  '  I  poured  out  but 
thirty-five  drops  of  the  elixir  for  the 
Baron,  and  he  became  young  again  for 
only  thirty-five  minutes." 

Oh!  give  me  more,  more,  Count!' 
eagerly  cried  the  old  man. 

No,  sir,'  replied  Cagliostro,  'fora 
second  trial  might,  perhaps,  kill  you.' 

Of  all  the  guests,  Madame  Du  Barry 
from  knowing  the  virtues  vf  the  elixir, 
was  the  one  who  had  the  most  minute- 
ly attended  to  the  ell'ects  produced  by 
it  on  Taverney.  As  by  degrees  youth 
and  vigor  flowed  through  his  arteries, 


elast  ic  as   in  the   strongest  days  of  his  |  the    eye  of  the  Countess    eagerly    fol- 


youth  ;  his  loins  resumed  their  vigor ; 
and  he  gradually  became  erect,  as  if 
the  liquor  as  it  descended  into  his  stom- 
ach, had  regenerated  his  whole  body 
from  his  head  to  his  feet. 

A  shout  of  surprise,  of  stupefaction, 
and   above   all  of  admiration  resounded 


lowed  this  progression.  She  laughed, 
she  applauded,  and  appeared  regenera- 
ted by  merely  gazing  at  him. 

When  the  success  of  the  draught  had 
attained  the  climax  she  was  about  seiz- 
ing the  hand  of  Cagliostro  to  wrest  from. 
him  the  precious  phial.  But  at  that 


i  HE  t^U  KEN'S  NECKLACE;  UK,  THE 


moment,  as  Taveruey  became  old  again 
more  suddenly  thau  he  hud  become 
young  : 

'Alas!  I, see  clearly,' said  she  sor- 
rowfully, 'that  ail  is  vanity,  'fin  hut  a 
chimera,  the  marvelous  effect  has -ex- 
isted but  five  and  thirty  minutes.' 

'Hint  is  to  say,'  rejoined  the  Count 
do  Haga.  •  that  in  order  to  obtain  youth 
that  would  endure  two  years,  it  would 
be.  necessary  to  drink  a  river.' 

All.  round  the  table  laughed. 

-aid  ( 'oiidorcet,  'the  calculation 
is  a  very  easy  one  ;  at  the  rate  of  thirty- 
live  drops'for  thirty-five  minutes, it  would 
only  require  the  trilliug  quantity  of  three 
millions  one  hundred  and  fifty-three 
thousand  and  six  drops  to  remain  young 
for  an  entire  year.' 

'  A  perfect  inundation,'  »aid  La  Pe- 
rouse. 

'  And  yet,  sir,'  said  Madame  Du  Bur- 
ry  addressing  Cagliostro,  '  according  to 
your  opinion  it  was  not  so  with  me, 
«ince  a  small  bottle  about  four  times  the 
size  of  your  phial  and  which  was  given 
to  me  by  your  friend  Joseph  Balsaino, 
has  sufficed  to  arrest  the  progress  of 
age  during  ten  years.' 

•  Pivci.-.ely  so,  madam,  and  you  alone 
have    hit  upon  the    mysterious    reality. 
The  man  who   has  become  old.  and  too 
old,  requires   twft  quantity  in   order  to 
produce  an  immediate  and  powerful  ef- 
fect.    Hut  a  woman  of  thirty,  which  is 
your    age,  madam,  or   a  man    of  forty, 
like  myself,  when   they  began  to  drink 
the  elixir    of  life, — full  of  vitality   nnd 
youth — do  not  need  to  drink  more  than 
ten  drops  at  each  period  of  decay,  and 
with  the   :)ici  of  these  tell    drops,  he  or 
she  who  sNiill  drink  then  will  eternally 
prolong  life  and  youth  and  in  the  same 
degree  energy  and  vigor.' 

•  What  do   you   mean  by    periods  "of 
decay  ?'  inquired  the  Count  de  Haga. 

•  The  nati;rn!  periods,  my  lord  Count. 
fn    the    natural   state,  the    Mrength    of 
man    incTeasei  until  the  age  of  thirty- 
live.      Having  reached    that  it   remains 
*a;ionary  until    forty.       From  the   age 

•  iffony  it  decreases  but  almost  imper- 
'oeptibiy  until  be  reaches  fifty.  Then 
the  peinods  become  shorter,  and  hurry 
on  until  the  day  of  death.  In  the  state 
of  civilization,  that  is  to  say,  when  the 
body  is  worn  out  by  excess,  care  and 
maladies,  the  increase  of  strength  is  ar- 
rested at  thirty;  decay  commences  at 
thirty-live.  Well  the'n  !  it  is  at.  that 
moment,  whether  an  inhabitant  of  ihe 
town  or  of  the  country,  that  he  .should 
oeizo  nature  at  me  Ht.alionary  period  in 


order  to  oppose  the  inclination  to  decny. 
He  who  possessing  the  secret  of  this 
elixir,  us  1  do,  knows -how  to  combine 
his  measures  in  such  a  way  as  to  arrest 
the  progress  of  decay,  will  live,  as  I 
live,  always  young,  or  at.  least  young 
•enough  for  all  he  can  wish  for  in  this 
world.' 

'Why!  good  heaven!  Monsieur  d» 
Cngliostro,'  cried  Madame  Du  Bnrry, 
'  how  was  it  Jhen,  that  you,  having  it  in 
your  power  to  select  the  age  you  piec- 
ed, did  not  choose  that  of  twenty  Hi- 
stead  of  forty, 

•  Uecause,  madam,'    replied  Cagliog- 
tro,   smiling,   'I  prefer   being  always  a 
man  of  forty,  healthy  and  full  grown,  to 
being  an  unformed   young  man  of  twen- 
ty.' 

'  Oh  !  oh  ."  cried  the  Countess. 

'  Why,  undoubtedly,  madam,'  re- 
joined Cagliostro,  '  for  at  the  age  of 
twenty  we  please  women  of  thirty.; 
whereas  at  forty  we  govern  women  of 
twenty  and  men  of  sixty.' 

'  I  yield  the  point,  sir,'  said  the  Coun- 
tess, '  besides,  how  would  it  be  possi- 
ble to  dispute  it  with  a  living  proof!' 

'  Then  I,'  said  Taverney  very  pite- 
ously,  '  I  am  totally  condemned ;  I  hav« 
begun  too  late.' 

'  M.  de  Richelieu  has  been  more 
skillful  than  you,'  said  La  Perouse  with 
the  frankness  of  a  sailor,  'for  I  have  al- 
ways heard  that  the  Marshal  had  u  cer- 
tain receipt — ' 

'  That  is  a  report  which  had  been 
spread  about  by  the  women,'  said  the 
Count  de  Haga,  laughing. 

'  Is  that  ft  reason  for  not  believing  if,' 
asked  Madame  Du  Barry. 

The  old  Marshal  blushed,  he  who  in- 
deed seldom  blushed,  but  immediately 
•abb 

4  Do  you  wish  to  know,  gentlemen, 
in  what  this  receipt  of  mine  consists  ?' 

''Yes,  certainly,  we  wish  to  know 
it/ 

'  Well,  then,  it  is  in  being  careful  of 
••If.' 

'  Oh  !  oh  ."  cried  all  the  guests. 

•  'Tis  that  though,  and  nothing  more,' 
rejoined  the  Marshal. 

'  I  would  dispute  the  authority  of  the 
receipt,'  observed  the  Countess,  '  had  I 
not  seen  the  elfect  of  that  of  M.  de 
Cagliostro.  Therefore  be  on  your 
guard,  Mr.  Sorcerer,  I  have  not  yet  got 
to  the  end  of  my  questions.' 

'  Go  on,  madam,  go  on.'    " 

1  You  were  saying  then  that  when 
you  first  made  use  of  your  elixir  of  life 
you  were  forty  year»  old  ?' 


MYSTERIES  OF  THE  COURT  OF  LOUIS  XVI. 


13 


•  Yes,  madam.' 

'And  that  since  that,  time,  that  is  to 
ay,  since  the  siege  of  Troy — ' 

4  A  short  time  before  that,  madam — ' 

4  Well,  be  it  so;  since  that  time  you 
have  always  remained  at  forty.' 

4  As  you  see.' 

'But  then  you  are  proving,  sir,'  said 
Condorcet,  '  more  than  your  theorem 
requires.' 

4  What  was  I  proving  to  you,  Mar- 
quis?' , 

4  You  are  proving  not  only  the  per- 
petuation of  youth,  but  the  preservation 
of  life  ;  for  if  you  hnve  never  been  more 
than  forty  years  old  since  the  siege  of 
Troy,  you  never  can  have  died.' 

'That  is  very  true,  Marquis,  I  hum- 
bly acknowledge  it,  I  have  never  died.' 

4  And  notwithstanding  you  are  not 
invulnerable  as  Achilles  was — and  yet  I 
should  not  call  Achilles  invulnerable, 
for  he  was  killed  by  Paris  who  struck 
him  in  the  heel  with  an  arrow.' 

4  No,  I  am  not  invulnerable,  and  much 
tO'tny  regret,'  said  Cagliostro.  ti< 

4  Then  you  may  be  killed,  you  may 
die  from  violence.' 

'  Alas !  yes.' 

k  How  then  have  you  managed  to  es- 
cape all  accidents  during  three  thou  • 
sand  five-hundred  years  ?'  enquired  the 
Count  de  Haga. 

'By  chance,  my  lord  Count.  Be  pleas- 
ed'to  attend  to  my  explanation.' 

'"I  will  do  so.' 

*  We  are  all  attention.' 

'  Yes,  yes,'  exclaimed  the  other 
guests  with  an  expression  of  unusual  in- 
terest, and  they  all  placed  their  elbows 
on  the  table  and  listened  with  great 
earnestness. 

The  voice  of  Cagliostro  broke  this 
general  silence  ; 

'  What  is  the  first  condition  of  life  ?' 
said  he  extending  his  marvellously 
white  hands  loaded  with  rings,  among 
which  that  of  Queen  Cleopatra  spark- 
led like  the  evening  star — 4  Health,  is  it 
not?' 

4  Yes,  undoubtedly,'  exclaimed  every 
foice. 

4  And  the  first  condition  of  Health 
is — ' 

4  Proper  diet,'  said  the  Count  de  Ha- 
ga. 

4  \  ou  are  right,  my  lord  Count,  it  is 
proper  diet  that  produces  health.  Well, 
than,  why  should  not  these  drops  of 
my  elixir  constitute  the  best  possible 
diet?' 

4  And  who  knows  that?' 

'  You,  yourself,  Countess.1* 


4  Yes,  undoubtedly,  but  no  one  else,' 
said  Madam  Du  Barry. 

'  As  to  that  madam,  it  is  a  question 
we  will  discuss  hereafter.  Well  then, 
I  have  always  followed  the  regimen  of 
my  drops,  and  as  they  have  been  the 
constant  dream  of  men  of  all  ages,  as 
they  found  the  secret  which  the  an- 
cients searched  for  under  the  name  of 
water  of  youth,  and  which  the  moderns 
tried  to  discover  under  the  name  of 
Elixir  of  Life,  I  have  constantly  preserv- 
ed my  youth  anid  consequently  my 
health,  consequently  my  life  ;  that  is 
perfectly  clear.' 

'  But  every  thing  wears  out,  Count, 
the  most  beautifully  formed  body  as  the 
rest.' 

4  Thnt  of  Paris  as  well  as  that  of 
Vulcan,'  remarked  the  Countess.  'You 
no  doubt  were  acquainted  with  Paris, 
M.  de  Cagliostro  ?' 

4  Perfectly  well,  madam  ;  he  was  ;i 
very  handsome  youth,  but  upon  the 
whole  he  did  not  deserve  all  thnt  Ho- 
mer said  of  him,  or  the  world  now 
thinks  !  In  the  fii-st  place,  he  was  red- 
haired  .' 

4  Red  !  oh  !  fie,  that's  horrible,'  ex- 
claimed the  Countess. 

4  Unfortunately,  Helen  was  not  of 
your  opinion,  madam,'  said  Cagliostro, 
4  but  to  return  to  our  elixir.' 

4  Yes,  yes,'  cried  all  the  company. 

4  You  assert,  M.  de  Taverney,  that 
every  thing  wears  out.  But  you  know 
also  that  every  thing  can  be  renovated, 
every  thing  can  be  regenerated,  or,  if 
you  will,  replaced.  The  celebrated  knife 
of  Saint  Hubert,  the  handle  and  blade  of 
which  have  so  often  been  changed  is 
an  example,  for  notwithstanding  this 
double  species  of  change  it  still  remains 
the  knife  of  Saint  Hubert.  The  wine 
which  the  Monks  of  Heidleberg  pre- 
serve in  their  cellar,  is  always  the  same 
wine,  and  yet,  every  year  they  pour 
into  their  gigantic  tun  a  new  vintage. 
And  therefore  the  wine  of  Heidleberg 
is  always  clear,  sparkling  and  of  j^ood 
flavor ;  whereas  the  wine  which  Opi- 
mus  and  myself  sealed  up  in  earthero 
amphori,  was  when  I  tasted  it  a  hun- 
dred years  afterwards  but  thick  mud  ; 
which  could  undoubtedly  be  eaten  but 
certainly  not  drank.' 

4  Well,  then,  instead  of  following  the 
example  of  Opimus,  I  anticipated  the 
system  which  was  to  be  adopted  by  the 
Monks  of  Heidelberg.  I  sustained  my 
body  by  pouring  into  it  a  new  principle 
calculated  to  regenerate  the  old  ele- 
ments of  which  it  was  composed.  Every 


14 


THE  QUEEN'S  NECKLACE;  OR,  THE 


morning  a  new  atom,  fresh  and  vigor- 
ous, replaced  in  my  blood,  my  flesh,  my 
bones,  a  worn-out,  inert  particle.  From 
this  minute  study  of  the  system  of  life, 
die  result  has  been  that  my  thinking 
faculties,  my  gestures,  my  nerves,  my 
heart,  my  soul,  hare  never  for  a  mo- 
ment forgotten  their  proper  functions  ; 
and1,  as  everything  in  this  world  follows 
a  necessary  concatenation,  as  those  suc- 
ceed best  in  performing  everything  who 
always  do  but  that  one^hing,  I  naturally 
became  more  skillful  than  any  other  in 
avoiding  the  dangers  of  an  existence  of 
three  thousand  years,  and  that,  because 
I  had  succeeded  in  acquiring  from  every 
thing  so  much  experience,  that  I  fore- 
see disadvantages — I  feel  the  danger  of 
a  position,  be  it  what  it  may.  Thus, 
you  could  never  compel  me  to  enter  a 
house  which  is  in  danger  of  falling. 
Oh  !  no  ;  I  have  seen  too  many  houses, 
not  to  distinguish  at  a  glance  the  solid 
from  the  dangerous  ones.  You^could 
not  persuade  me  to  shoot  in  company 
with  an  inexperienced  sportsman,  who 
handles  his  gun  unskilfully.  From  the 
days  of  Cephalus,  who  killed  his  wife 
Procris,  down  to  the  regent  who  shot 
the  prince  in  the  eye,  I  have  seen  too 
many  awkward  persons.  You  could 
not  induce  me  in  a  campaign  to  volun- 
teer to  occupy  such  or  such  a  post 
which  many  would  eagerly  apply  for ; 
for,  seeing  that  I  should  have  calculated 
in  a  moment  all  the  parabolic  lines 
which  verge  towards  that  post.  You 
may  tell  me  that  no  one  can  calculate 
against  a  chance  shot ;  I  reply  that,  a 
man  who,  having  avoided  a  million  of 
gun  shots,  would  be  inexcusable,  did  he 
allow  himself  to  be  struck  by  a  chance 
one.  Ah  !  do  not  make  those  incre- 
dulous signs,  for  at  all  events  I  am  here 
bel'm-e  you  as  a  living  proof.  I  do  not 
sa}'  that  I  am  immortal;  I  sny  only  that 
I  know  tiiat  which  no  one  else  knows — 
that  is  to  say,  how  to  avoH  death  when 
likely  to  present  itself  by  accident. 
Thus  for  example  :  for  nothing  the 
world  could*  oiler  would  I  remain  here 
alone  a  quarter  of  an  hour  with  M.  de 
Launay,  who  is  at  this  very  moment 
thinking  that  could  he  but  get  me  into 
one  of  his  cells  in  the  Bastille,  he  would 
make  some  experiments  on  my  immor- 
tality with  the  aid  of  starvation.  Neither 
would  I  remain  alone  with  M.  Condor- 
cet,  for  he  is  at  this  moment  thiftking 
of  throwing  into  my  glass  the  contents 
of  tin;  ring  which  he  wears  on  the  fore- 
finger of  his  left  hand,  and  its  contents 
are  poison.  And  this  without  any  evil 


intention  whatsoever;  but,  by  way  of 
philosophical  experiment,  to  uncertain 
!r imply  and  purely  whether  it  could  kill 


The  two  persons  whom  the  Count  de 
Cagliostro  had  thus  named,  both  started 
slightly. 

'  Acknowledge  it  boldly,  M.  de  Lau- 
nay ;  we  are  not  in  a  court,  of  justice, 
and,  besides,  mere  intentions  are  not 
punishable.  Come  now,  tell  me,  did 
you  not  think  that  which  I  have  just 
stated  ?  And  you,  M.  Condorcef,  have 
you  not  in  that  ring  a  poison  which  you 
would  wish  me  to  taste  ?  In  the  name 
of  your  beloved  mistress,  Science,  i 
conjure  you.' 

'  In  good  faith,'  replied  M.  de  Lau- 
nay, laughing  and  blushing,  •  1  ac- 
knowledge that  you  are  perfectly  right. 
It  was  an  absurdity,  but  an  absurdity 
that  really  did  rise  to  my  mind  at  the 
very  moment  before  you  accused  inc.' 

'And  I,'  said  Condorcet,  'will  not  be  , 
less  frank  than  Monsieur  de  Launay.  J 
did  in  truth  think  that,  were  you  to 
taste  'of  that  which  is  in  my  ring,  I 
would  not  give  an  obole  for  your  immor- 
tality.' 

An  exclamation  of  admiration  re- 
sounded from  all  the  company.  These 
avowals  were  convincing  proofs  not  of 
the  immortality,  but  of  the  penetration 
of  M.  de  Cagliostro. 

'  You  see  clearly,'  said  Cagliostro,  c* 
calmly,  'that  I  had  guelsed  rightly. 
Well,  it  is  the  same  with  every  thing 
that  is  likely  to  happen  to  me.  My 
long  habit  of  living  reveals  to  me  at  a 
glance  the  past  and  future  of  people 
whom  I  meet.  My  infallibility  on  this 
point  is  such  that  it  extends  even  to 
animals  and  to  inert  matter.  If  I  tun 
about  to  get  into  a  carriage,  I  see  by 
the  look  of  the  horses  that  they  would 
run  away  with  me;  by  the  face  of  the 
coachman,  whether  he  is  likely  to  over- 
turn me  or  run  against,  any  thing.  If  I 
have  to  embark  on  board  a  ship,  I  di- 
vine whether  she  is  sea-worthy,  whe- 
ther the  captain  is  ignorant  or  obstinate, 
and,  consequently,  whether  he  can  or 
cannot  properly  navigate  his  ship.  1 
do  not  deny  the  power  of  fiite,  but,  I 
lessen  it;  instead  of  leaving  if  a  hun- 
dred chances,  as  do  people  generally,  I 
diminish  them  by  ninety -nine,  and  I 
mistrust  the  hundredth.  And  this  is 
the  advantage  I  have  gained  by  living 
three  thousand  years.' 

•Then,'  said  La  Perouse,  laughing 
amid  the  enthusiasm  excited  by  Cagli- 
ostro'e  words,  'Then,  my  deal1  prophet, 


MYSTERIES  OF  THE  COURT  OF  .LOUIS  XVI. 


15 


you  ought  to  favor  me  by  accompanying 
me    to    the   ships   wilh  which  I  Jim  to 
make  a  voyage  rouud  the  world.      \"ou 
would  be  doing  me  a  signal  servK-i1.' 
Cagliostro  made  nu  i-i:ply  . 

•  Well,  ray  good  MiU'nhul,'   continued 
La  Perouse  still  laughing,  ; since  M.  de 
Cagliostro,    and  which  I    fully  compre- 
hend, feels  uo  desire  to  leave  such    ex- 
cellent company,  you  must  allow  me  to 
do  so        Pardon    me,   Count  de   Haga, 
pardon  me    lovely  Countess,  but   seven 
o'clock  is   striking,  and    I  promised  the 
King  to  get  into  my  chaise  at  a  quarter 
past  seven  precisely,  and  now,  since  the 

;  Count  de  Cagliostro  is  not  tempted  to 
go  with  me  to  sec  my  two  good  ships. 
let  him  tell  me  at  least  what  is  to  hap- 
pen to  me  between  Versailles  and  Brest. 
From  Brest  to  the  pole,  I  ask  him  noth- 
ing, for  that  is  my  ailair.  But  by  Ju- 
piter, from  Versailles  to  Brest  he  ought 
to  give  me  an  opinion.' 

Cagliostro  looked  once  more  at  La 
Perouse  and  with  an  expression  so 
melancholy,  an  air  at  once  so  kind  and 
sorrowful,  that  the  greater  part  of  the 
guests  were  singularly  moved  by  it. 
But  the  navigator  did  not  observe  it,  he 
was  taknig  leave  of  his  friends,  his  aerv- 
» auta  were  throwing  over  his  shoulders 
a  large  fur  cloak,  and  Madame  Du  Bar- 
ry was  slipping  into  his  pockets  some 
.bottles  of  exquisite  cordials  so  accept- 
able to  a  traveller,  and  which  the  latter 
rarely  thinks  ol*providing,  but  which  re- 
ctd  to  him  his  absent  friends  during  the 
long  nights  of  journe)'  performed  be- 
neath a  wintry  and  inclement  sky. 

La  Perouse  still  smiling  respectfully 
took  leave  of  the  Count  de  Haga,  and 
held  out  his  hand  to  the  old  Marshal. 

•  Adieu !  my    dear  La   Perouse,'  said 
the  Duke  de  Richelieu. 

•  Not  so,  Duke,'    replied  La  Perouse, 
'  only  farewell,  till  we  meet  again.   Why 
really  one    would   think   I   was    going 
away  to  all  eternity.     It  is  but  a  voyage 
round  the  world,    four  or  five  years  ab- 
sence— and  that   is  all.       We  need   not 
say  adieu  !  for  that.' 

4  Four  or  five  years !'  cried  the  Mar- 
shal, *  why  do  you  not  say  at  onee  four 
or  five  centuries  ?  At  my  age,  days 
are  years.  Again  I  say  adieu  !' 

4  Pshaw !      Ask  our  magician  there,' 
eaid    La   Perouse    laughing,     '  he   will  i 
promise  you  twenty  yearv  yet,  will  you  i 
uoi  M.  de  (Jagliost.ro  ?     Ah  !  Count  why 
did  you   not  tell  me  sooner  of  your  di- 
vine   drops  ?       Whatever   they    might 
have  cost  I  would    have  shipped  a   tun  i 
of  them  on  board  the  Astrolabe.     That ; 


is  the  in.  me  of  my  ship,  gentlemen. 
Madame,  allow  me  once  more  to  kiss 
your  lovely  hand,  undoubtedly  the  most 
lovely  I  am  destined  to  see  until  my  re- 
turn. Farewell,  till  we  meet  again.' 

And  he  left  the  room. 

Cagliostro  still  maintained  the  same 
inauspicious  silence. 

They  heard  the  Captain's  steps  as 
he  went  through  the  vestibule ;  his 
joyous  voice  in  the  court  yard,  and  hia 
last  compliment?  to  the  persons  who 
had  assembled  there  to  see  him. 

Then  the  horses  shook  their  heads, 
loaded  with  bells,  the  door  of  the  post 
chaise  slammed  too  with  a  sharp  sound, 
and  the  wheels  rumbled  over  the  hard 
frozen  snow. 

La  Perouse  had  taken  the  first  steps 
in  that  mysterious  journey  from  which 
he  was  never  to  return. 

Every  .one  listened. 

When  nothing  more  was  to  be  heard 
all  eyes  as  if  by  some  superior  power 
were  turned  on  Cagliostro. 

At  that  moment  a  pythonic  intelli- 
gence appeared  to  lighten  up  the  fea- 
tures of  that  man,  which  made  the 
whole  of  the  company  shudder. 

A  dead  silence  pervaded  the  room 
for  some  moments.  The  Count  de  Ha- 
ga was  the  first  to  break  it. 

'And  why,  sir,  did  you  not  reply  to 
him  ?' 

This  question  was  the  expression  ol 
their  mutual  anxiety. 

Cagliostro  started  as  if  it  had  aroused 
him  from  his  meditations. 

•  Because,'    said  he,   replying   to  the 
Count,  '  I  must  either  have  spoken  free- 
ly, or  have  said  that  which  would   have 
appeared  harsh.' 

4  And  why  so?' 

'  Because  I  should  have  been  com- 
pelled to  say.  the  Duke  de  Rirhelieu 
was  right  in  bidding  you  adieu  !  and  in 
not  saying  farewell,  till  we  meet  again.' 

4  Why,'  cried  the  Duke  de  Richelieu 
turning  pale,  '  what  the  deuse  are  you 
saying  there  M.  de  Cagliostro,  about  La 
Perouse  !' 

*  Oh  !  do  not  be  at  all  uneasy,'  eager- 
ly replied  de  Cagliostro,  'the  prediction 
is  in  no   wise  gloomy   with   regard   to 
you.' 

*  How  then,'    exclaimed  Madame  Du 
Barry,  'and  poor   La  Perouse  who  but 
now  kissed  my  hand — ' 

•  Not  only  will  he  never  kiss  it  again, 
madam,  but  he  will  never  again  see  those 
whom    he  has   left   this   evening,'    said 
Cagliostro  attentively  examining  a  glasa 
full  of  water  that  stood  before  him,  and 


THE  QUEEN'S  NECKLACE;  OR,  THE 


which  from  the  position  in  which  it  was 
placed  wns  illuminated  by  rays  of  an  opal 
tint,  transversely  checquered  by  the 
shadows  of  surrounding  objects. 

A  cry  of  astonishment  issued  from 
every  lip. 

Conversation  had  arrived  at  that  point 
at  which  every  moment  increased 
the  interest,  and  it  might  have  been 
•aid,, from  the  grave,  solemn  and  almost 
anxious  air  with  which  the  company  in- 
terrogated Cagliostro,  whether  by  their 
words  or  looks,  that  they  were  await- 
ing the  infallible  predictions  of  an  an- 
cient oracle. 

In  the  middle  of  this  prepossession, 
M.  de  Favras,  imbued  with  the  general 
feelings,  rose  from  his  chair,  made  a 
sign,  and  -then  went  on  tiptoe  into  the 
anti-chamber,  to  ascertain  that  none  of 
the  servants  were  listening. 

But.  aa  we  have  before  said,  the  Mar- 
shal de  Richelieu's,  house,  was  well 
regulated,  and  M.  de  Favras  found  out- 
eide  the  door  of  the  antechamber  only 
an  old  intendant,  who  rigid  as  a  senti- 
nel on  an  advanced  post  defended  the 
approaches  to  the  dining  room  at  the 
solemn  hour  of  the  dessert. 

He  therefore  returned  to  his  seat 
making  a  sign  to  the  assembled  com- 
pany that  they  might  converse  with 
perfect  freedom. 

4  In  that  case,'  said  Madame  Du  Bar- 
ry replying  to  the  assurance  of  M.  de 
Favras  as  if  it  had  been  pronounced  au- 
dibly, '  in  that  case  tell  us  the  fate  which 
awaits  our  poor  La  Perouse  ?' 

Cagliostro  shook  hie  head. 

*  Let  us  have  it !  Let  us  have  it,' 
said  the  men. 

'Well,  then,  M.  de  Laperouse  has  left 
us  as  he  told  you,  with  the  intention  of 
performing  a  voynge  round  the  world, 
and  to  continue  the  discoveries  of  Cook, 
poor  Cook  !  whom  you  have  heard  was 
assassinated  at  the  Sandwich  Islands.' 

'Yes,  yes,  we  have  heard  that,'  re- 
plied the  company,  rather  by  signs  than 
words. 

'  All  would  predict  a  favorable  issue 
to  the  enterprise.  M.  de  La  Perouse 
is  a  good  setimnn,  and  moreover  the 
King  Louis  XVI,  has  skilfully  traced 
out  the  course  he  is  to  take.' 

'  Yes,'  said  the  Count  de  Haga,  in- 
terrupting him,  '  the  King  of  France  is 
a  skilful  geographer  ;  is  he  not  so  M.  de 
Condorcet  ?' 

•A  more  skillful  geograoher  than  a 
King  need  be,'  replied  the  Marquis. 
'  Kings  should  but  know  things  super- 
ficially. Then  they  would  perhaps  al- 


low themselves  to  be  directed  by  men 
who  know  them  thoroughly.' 

'  That  is  a  lesson,  Marquis,'  smilingly 
observed  the  Count  de  Haga. 

Condorcet  blushed. 

'  Oh !  no,  my  lord  Count,'  said  he,  '  it 
is  a  mere  reflection  ;  a  philosophical 
generality.' 

4  Well,  then,  he  has  set  out,'  said 
Madame  Du  Barry,  hastening  to  pre- 
vent all  private  conversation,  which 
might  cause  the  general  interest  to  de- 
viate from  the  point  which  it  had 
reached. 

'  Well  then,  he  has  set  out,'  rejoined 
Cagliostro.  '  But  do  not  believe,  al- 
though he  appeared  to  you  in  such 
haste,  that  he  will  set  sail  immediately; 
no,  I  see  him  losing  much  time  at 
Brest.' 

'That  is  a  pity,'  observed  Condor- 
cet,' it  is  now  the  proper  time  for  sail- 
ing. It  is  even  rather  late,  February 
or  March  would  have  been  better.' 

'  Oh !  do  not  reproach  him  for  the 
loss  of  these  two  or  three  months,  M. 
de  Condorcet,  at  least  he  lives  during 
that  time  ;  he  lives  and  hopes.' 

'  He  is  well  accompanied,  I  suppose,' 
said  the  Duke  de  Richelieu. 

'  Yes,'  said  Cagliostro,  •  he  who  com- 
mands the  second  ship  is  a  distinguish- 
ed officer.  I  see  him,  still  young,  ad- 
venturous, brave,  unfortunately.' 

'  How !  unfortunately^' 

'Yes,  unfortunately;  a  year  after- 
wards I  seek  that  friend,  and  I  no  long- 
er see  him,'  said  Cagliostro,  anxiously 
examining  his  glass.  '  There  are  none 
here  who  are  related  to  M.  de  Lan- 
gle  ?' 

'No.' 

'No  one  here  is  acquainted  with 
him  ?' 

'No.' 

'Well  then,  death  will  begin  with 
him  ;  I  no  longer  see  him.' 

A  murmur  of  terror  escaped  from  al' 
present. 

•  But — he — he— La  Perouse!'  cried 
several  palpitating  voices. 

'  He  sails  on — he  lands — ho  re-em- 
barks. One  year,  two  years  of  success- 
ful navigation.  Letters  are  received 
from  him.*  And  then — 

'  And  then — ' 

'  Years  pass  by.' 

'  And  at  last.' 


•Che  offiorr  who  hr-night  the  last  intelligence 
receive*!  fr.mLi  Per.  u-e  w«*  M.  "Je  L  fc»ep^ 
ih  nl,  mi 'i  •  f  tile  whole  axjjediuou  who  r«- 
;uru  tl  to  Fraace 


MYSTERIES  OF  THE  COURT  OF  LOUIS  XVI. 


17 


*  At  last!  The  ocean  is  immense,  known  islands."  He  would  then  have 
the  skies  are  lowering.  Here  and  there  !  been  warned  against  them.  It  would, 
arise  unexplored  lands,  here  and  there  at  all  events,  have  given  him  a  chance.' 
frightful  faces  like  tlTose  of  the  Gre  cian  '  I  can  assure  you  it  would  not,  my 
Archipelago.  They  are  watching  the  lord  Count ;  and,  had  he  believed  me, 
vessel,  which  glides  in  the  haze  among  ,  think  but  a  moment  of  the  horrible  ef- 
the  reefs,  carried  along  by  conflicting  feet  of  such  a  revelation  ;  for,  when  in 
currents  ;  at  length  the  storm,  the  storm  presence  of  such  a  danger,  at  the  aspect 
more  hospitable  than  the  shore,  and  of  these  unknown  islands  which  must 


then  funereal  lights.  Oh !  Laperouse. 
Laperouse,  couldst  thou  but  hear  me,  I 
would  say  to  thee;  thou  departed  as 
did  Christopher  Columbus,  to  discover 
an  unknown  world ;  Laperouse  bewure 
of  unknown  Islands !' 

And  he  suid  no  more. 

An  icy  chill  pervaded  the  whole  com- 
pany, while  the  last  words  he  had  ut- 
tered still  vibrated  above  the  table. 

4  But  why  then  did  you  not  warn 
him?' cried  the  Count  de  Hnga,  who 
submitted,  as  did  all  the  rest,  to  the  in- 
fluence of  this  extraordinary  man  who 
moved  all  hearts  at  his  mere  will. 

,«  Yes.  yes,'  said  Madam  Dubarry.' 
'  Why  not  send  after  him  ;  why  not 
bring  him  back  ?  The  life  of  such  a 
man  as  Laperouse  is  surely  worth  the 
journey  of  a  courier,  my  dear  Marshal.' 

The  Marshal  understood  her  and  half 


rose  to  ring  the  bell. 
Cagliostro    extended 


his    hand,  the 


Duke  de  Richelieu  fell   back  into   his 
armrchair. 

'  Alas  !'  continued  Cagliostro,  '  all 
counsel  Would  be  unavailing;  the  man 
who  foresees  fate  cannot  alter  its  de- 
crees. M.  de  Laperouse  would  have 
Iftughed  had  he  heard  my  words,  us  did 


the    sons   of 
prophesied ; 


Priam,   when    Cassandra 
but  see,  you  yoursetf  are 


laughing,  Count  de  Haga,  and  your  com- 
panions will  soon  follow  your  example. 
Oh  !  do  not  restrain  yourself  Monsieur 
de  Condorcet,  do  not  restrain  yourself 
Monsieur  de  Favras ;  I  have  never  yet 
met  with  a  believing  auditory,' 

4  Oh !  we  believe,'  exclaimed  Ma- 
dame Dubarry  and  the  old  Duke  of 
Richelieu.'  : 

•I  believe,'  murmured  Tavejjney,. 

'And  I  also,'  politely  said  the  Count 
de  Haga.  ,: 

'  Yes>'  rejoined  CagUflfltro,  '  you  be- 
lieve :  you  believe, ibecuuse  wlyit  1  have 
Bhid  concerns  Laperouse,  but  did  it  con- 
cern yourself,  you  would  not.' 

'Oh!' 

« I  am  certain  of  it.' 

1  I  acknowledge  that  I  should,  have 
believed  more  readily,'  ,  replied  ;tlu- 
Count  de  Haga,  '  hud  M«  fie  Cugljystni 
eaid  to  M. Laperouse,  "Beware  of  un- 


be  fatal  to  him,  the  unhappy  man,  be- 
lieving in  my  prophecy,  would  feel  the 
mysterious  death  approaching  him, 
without  being  able  to  fly  from  it.  It 
would  not  be  a  single  death,  but  a 
thousand  deaths  fha*  he  would  suiter  ; 
for  it  would  be  suffering  a  thousand 
deaths  to  be  wandering  in  the  gloom, 
side  by  side  with  despair.  Reflect, 
that  hope,  of  which  I  should  have  de- 
prived him,  is  the  last  consolation  winch 
the  wretched  victim  retains,  even  when 
beneath  the  axe  of  the  execution.;):  —  -to 
which  he  clings,  even  when  it  first 
touches  him  —  when  he  feels  its  sharp 
edge  —  when  his  blood  begins  to  flow. 
Life  becomes  extinct  while  man  still 

1  . 

hopes.' 

'  Oh'!  that  is  true  !|  t>,aid  some  of  tho 
guests  in  a  half  whiter. 

'Yes,'  continue,}  Condorcet,  'the 
veil  which  coucria}s  the  termination'  of 
our  lives  is  tl\e  greatest  blessing  which 
God  has  conferred  on  man.' 

'  Well,  be  that  as  it  may/  said  the 
Count  de  Hap.  ;  '  but  did  it  happen  that 
I  should  hear  a  man  like  you  suy'to  me, 
"  Beware  of  such  a  man,  or  such  a 
thing,"  I  should  receive  the  advice  as 
good,  and  I  should  thank  the  adviser.' 

Caglfostro  gently  shook  his  head,  ao- 
fpmpanying  this  gesture  with  a  mourn- 
ful smile. 

'  in  good  earnest,  Monsieur  Cagli- 
ostrq,'  continued  the  Count,  •  ^ivu  up  a 
warning  and  I  will  thank  you.' 

'  You  -vyiwh  me,  then,  to  tell  you  '.hat 
which  I  have  refused,  to  tell  M.  do  La- 
perouse.' 
.  f,\  Yes,  I  do  wish  it.' 

Cagliostro  made  a  movement,  as  if 
.ubout  to  .peak,  but,  paused. 

'  Oh  !   no,'  said  he,  '  Count  —  no.' 


'  l 
,    C 


you.' 

ostro  turueq  aside  his  head. 
er  !'  nmrmureil  ho. 
.  -ike  can-  !'   ^aiil  the  Count,  with  a 
smile,  -or  vuu  will  make  me  once  more 
incredulous  ;  /, 

-  Lucrqdulfty    is    less   injurious   than 
anguish.' 

M,  .de,   Caghostro,'  said  the  Count 
i-ly,  •  there  is  one  thing  which  you 
forget.' 


18 


THE  QUEEN'S  NECKLACE;  OR,  THE 


'And  what  is  that?'  respectfully  in- 
quired the  Prophet. 

« It  is  that  if  there  may  be  certain  men 
who  without  inconvenience  may  re- 
main ignorant  of  their  destiny,  there 
are  others  to  whom  it  is  essential  the 
future  should  be  known,  seeing  that 
their  destiny  is  not  alone  important  to 
themselves,  but  to  millions  of  men.'' 

4  In  that  case  I  must  have  an  order,' 
replied  Cngliostro.  '  No,  I  will  do  no- 
thing without  an  order.' 

'  What  is  it  that  you  mean  ?' 
'  That  j'our  Majesty  should  lay  your 
commands  upon  me,'  said  Cagliostro  in 
a  low  tone,  '  and  I  will  then  obey.' 

4 1  command  you  to  reveal  to  me  my 
destiny,  M.  de  Cagliostro,'  rejoined  the 
King,  with  courteous  dignity. 

And  at  that  moment  as  the  Count  de 
Haga  had  allowed  himself  to  be  ad- 
dressed as  a  King  and  had  thrown  off 
his  incognito  by  giving  a  direct  order, 
M.  de  Richelieu  rose,  stepped  forward 
and  bowing  humbly  to  the  King  said  to 
him: 

'  A  thousand  thanks  for  the  honor 
which  the  King  of  Sweden  has  done 
my  house.  Your  Majesty  will  now  be 
pleased  to  take  tbe  seat  of  honor;  from 
this  moment  it  belongs  to  you  alone,  sire.' 
4  Let  us  remain  at?  we  are,  my  good 
Marshal,  and  do  not  le£  us  lose  a  word 
of  that  which  M.  de  Cagliostro  is  about 
to  say  to  me.' 

4  To  Kings,  truth  cannot  be  spoken, 
sire.' 

4  Bah  !  I  am  not  in  my  own  kingdom. 
Resume  your  seat,  Duke ;  speak,  Mon- 
sieur de  Cagliostro,  I  entreat  you.' 

Cagliostro  cast  a  glance  at  his  glass  ; 
globules,  similar  to  those  which  sparkle 
in  champagne,  rose  from  the  bottom  to 
the  surface ;  the  water  appeared  to  be 
attracted  by  his  powerful  gaze,  and  be- 
came agitated  at  his  will. 

4  Tell  me,  sire,  what  you  desire  to 
know,'  said  Cagliostro ;  4 1  am  now  ready 
to  reply  to  you.' 

4  Tell  me  of  what  death  I  shall  die  ?' 
4  You  will  be  shot,  sire.'  m 

The  features  of  Gustavus  beamed 
with  joy. 

4  Ah !  in  a  battle,'  exclaimed  he  ;  '  a 
soldier's  death,  and  on  the  battle  field. 
Thanks,  M.  de  Cagliostro;  a  hundred 
times  I  thank  you.  Oh  !  I  foresee  bat- 
tles, and  Gustavus  Adolphus  and  Charles 
the  Twelfth  have  shown  me  how  a  man 
should  die  when  he  is  King  of  Sweden.' 
Cagliostro  .bowed  down  his  head, 
without  replying.  The  Count  de  Haga 
knit  his  brow. 


4  Oh!  oh!'  cried  he,  (  will  it  not  be 
in  battle  that  the  death  shot  will  be 
fired?' 

4  No,  sire.' 

4  During  an  insurrection  ?  Yes,  that 
also  may  be  possible.' 

4  Nor  in  an  insurrection.' 

'4  But  where,  then,  will  it  happen  ?' 

4  At  a  ball,  sire.' 

The  King  became  thoughtful. 

Cagliostro,  who  had  risen,  resumed 
his  seat  and  let  his  head  fall  upon  his 
hands, 'covering  his  face. 

All  present  became  pale,  attentively 
regarding  the  author  of  the  prophecy 
and  he  who  was  the  object  of  it. 

M.  de  Condorcet  approached  Cagli- 
ostro's  chair,  and  taking  the  glass,  in 
which  he  had  read  the  fatal  augury,  by 
the  stem,  he  raised  it  to  the  level  of  his 
eye,  closely  examining  its  brilliant  cut 
lery  and  its  mysterious  contents.  . 

His  intelligent  but  cold  and  scrutiniz- 
ing eye  appeared  to  be  asking  of  both 
the  solid  and  liquid  crystal,  the  solution 
of  a  problem  which  his  reason  reduced 
to  a  mere  physical  speculation. 

And,  in  fact,  the  scientific  man  was 
endeavoring  to  compute  the  depth,  the 
luminous  refractions,  and  the  micro- 
scopic play  of  the  water.  He  was  in- 
quiring of  himself — he  who  wished  to 
discover  a  cause  for  every  thing — the 
cause  and  the  pretext  for  this  jugglery, 
exercised  upon  men  of  the  mental  qual- 
ities possessed  by  those  seated  around 
that  table,  and  by  one  whose  wondrous 
knowledge  no  one  could  deny. 

Doubtless,  he  did  not  find  a  solution 
to  his  problem,  for  he  ceased  to  examine 
the  glass,  replaced  it  on  the  table,  and, 
amid  the  stupefaction  which  resulted 
from  Cagliostro's  prognostic — 

4  Well,'  said  he,  '  I  also  will  beg  our 
illustrious  prophet  to  question  his  magic 
mirror.  Unfortunately,'  added  he,  4 1 
atn  not  a  powerful  lord — I  cannot  com- 
mand, and  my  obscure  life  does  not  be- 
long to  millions  of  men.' 

4  Sir,'  said  the  Count  de  Haga,  4  you 
command  in  the  name  of  Science,  and 
your  life  is  not  merely  interesting  to  a 
people,  but  to  the  whole  human  race.' 

4  Thanks,  my  lord  Count ;  but  per- 
haps your  opinion  on  this  point  is  not 
the  same  as  that  of  M.  de  Cagliostro.' 

Cagliostro  raised  his  head,  as  does  a 
charger  under  the  pressure  of  the  spur. 

44  Yes,  yes,  Marquis,'  he  replied,  un- 
der the  influence  of  incipient,  nervous 
irritability,which  in  ancient  times  would 
have  been  ascribed  to  the  power  of  the 
God  by  whom  he  was  inspired.  4  Yes, 


MYSTERIES  OF  THE  COURT  OF  LOUIS  XVI. 


19 


you  are  a  powerful  lord  in  the  kingdom 
of  intellect.  Come,  now,  look  at  me 
steadily  ;  do  you  also  desire  that  I 
•should  predict  your  fate  ?' 

•  Seriously,  Count ;   upon  my  honor, 
no  one  can  more  seriously  desire  it,' 
replied  Condorcet. 

•  Well,    then,    Marquis,'  said  Cagli- 
ostro,  in  a  hollow  tone,  and  closing  his  j 
eyelids,  '  you  will   die    of  the    poison 
continued  in  the  ring  you  wear  on  your 

.  finger.     You  will  die — ' 

4  Oh !  but  should  I  throw  it  away  ?' 
cried  Condorcet,  interrupting  him. 

4  Throw  it  away,  then.' 

4  You  will  at  all  events  acknowledge 
that  it  can  easily  be  done.' 

4  Then,  throw  it  away,  I  tell  you.' 

'Oh!  yes,  Marquis,'  cried  Madame 
Dubarry ;  '  for  mercy's  sake,  throw 
away  that  horrid  poison — throw  it  away, 
if  it  be  only  to  prove  that  this  ill-omen- 
ed prophet  has  spoken  falsely — he  who 
afflicts  us  all  with  his  predictions  ;  for 
nothing  can  be  more  clear  than  this, 
that  should  you  throw  it  away,  it  will 
not  be  by  that  you  will  be  poisoned ; 
and  as  it  is  by  that,  that  M.  de  Cagli- 
ostro  pretends  you  will  be,  then,  in 
spite  of  himself,  he  will  have  advanced 
a  falsehood.' 

'  The  Countess  Madam  is  right,'  said 
the  Count  de  Haga. 

4  Bravo  !  Countess,'  said  Richelieu  ; 
4  come,  now,  Marquis,  throw  away  that 
poison  ;  for  now  that  I  know  that  you 
carry  on  your  finger  that  which  might 
cause  the  death  of  any  man,  I  shall 
tremble  eveiy  time  we  touch  glasses. 
The  ring  may  open  accidentally,  and — 
and—' 

4  And  when  two  glasses  touch  each 
other,  they  come  very  close,'  observed 
Taverney.  4  Throw  it  away,  Marquis — 
throw  it  away.' 

•  All  that  is   useless,'   observed  Cag- 
liostro  very   calmly,  4  M.  de-  Condorcet 
will  not  throw  it  away.' 

'  No,'  said  the  Marquis,  4that  is  true, 
I  will  not  throw  it  away,  and  it  is  not 
because  I  am  aiding  fate  ;  it  is  because 
it  was  Cabanis  who  composed  this  poi- 
son for  me,  which  is  unique,  for  in  was 
solidified  by  mere  accident,  and  such 
an  accident  as  perhaps  may  never  occur 
again ;  that  is  the  reason  why  I  will 
not  throw  away  this  poison.  Triumph 
if  you  please,  M.  de  Cagliostro.' 

'  Destiny,'  observed  the  latter,  4  finds 
always  faithful  agents  to  aid  the  execu- 
tion of  her  decrees.' 

'  So  I  am  to  die  poisoned,'  said  the 
Marquis.  '  Well !  be  it  so !  It  is  not 


every  one  who  wishes  it  that  can  die 
from  poison.  It  is  an  admirable  death 
that  you  predict  to  me  ;  a  little  poison 
on  the  tip  of  my  tongue  and  I  am  an- 
nihilated. It  is  not  death  it  is  only 
minus  life,  as  we  say  in  Algebra.' 

'  It  is  no  wish  of  mine  that  you  should 
suffer,'  coldly  replied  Cagliostro,  and  he 
made  a  sign,  evincing  that  he  wished  to 
proceed  no  farther  at  all  events  with  re- 
gard to  M.  Condorcet. 

4  Sir,'  then  said  the  Marquis  de  Fa- 
vras,  stretching  across  the  table,  to  get 
as  nenr  as  possible  to  Cagliostro,  '  we 
have  hnd  a  shipwreck,  a  shot,  and  an 
empoisonment,  which  make  my  mouth 
water ;  would  you  not  do  me  the  favor 
to  predict  for  me  some  little  catastrophe 
of  the  same  nature  ?' 

Oh  ! Marquis,'  replied  Cagliostro,  be- 
ginuing  to  become  animated  under  all 
this  irony,  4  it  would  really  be  wrong  in 
you  to  feel  jealous  of  these  gentlemen, 
for  on  the  honor  of  a  gentleman  you  will 
have  something  better.' 

4  Better !'  exclaimed  M.  de  Favraa, 
laughing  ;  '  take  care !  you  are  promis- 
ing too  much.  Better  than  the  sea,  a 
ball,  or  poison.  That's  difficult.' 

4  There  still  remains  the  rope  Mar- 
quis,' said  Cngliostro  very  cftui'teously. 

4  The  rope !  oh !  oh !  what  are  you 
saying?' 

4 1  tell  you  that  you  will  be  hanged,' 
replied  Cagliostro  in  a  species  of  pro- 
phetic rage  of  which  he  was  no  longer 
master. 

4  Hanged ."  reiterated  all  present, 
4  the  devil !' 

4  You  forget,  sir,  that  I  am  a  noble- 
man,' said  Favras,  somewhat  cooled ; 
4  and  if  by  chance  you  mean  to  hint  at 
suicide,  I  forewarn  you  that  I  calculate 
upon  respecting  myself  too  much  even 
to  the  last  moment,  to  make  use  of  a 
rope  as  long  a?  I  have  a  sword.' 

4 1  am  not  talking  to  you  of  suicide, 
sir.' 

4  Then  you  speak  of  an  execution.' 

4  Yes.' 

4  You  are  a  foreigner,  sir,  and  as  such 
I  pardon  you.' 

•What?' 

4  Your  ignorance.  In  France,  noble- 
men are  beheaded.' 

4  You  will  arrange  that  matter,   sir, 
with  the   executioner,'   said  Cagliostro 
I  crushing  his  interlocutor  with  that  bru- 
I  tal  answer. 

There  was  a  moment's  hesitation  in 
the  company. 

4  Do  you  know,'  said  M.  de  Launay 
that  I  begin  to  tremble ;  my  predeces- 


20 


THE  QUEEN'S  NECKLACE ;  OR,  THE 


tore  have  been  so  unfortunate  that  I  au- 
gtir  ill  for  miself,  should  I  dip  my  hand 
into  the  snme  bag  as  tliey  have  done.' 

'Then  you  are  more  reasonable  than 
they  have  shown  themselves,  and  ^do 
not  desire  to  know  the  future.  You 
are  right.  Whether  good  or  evil  let  us 
respect  the  secrets  of  Heaven.' 

'  Oh  !  oh  !  M.  de  Launay  ."  exclainfed 
Mndame  Dubarry,  '  I  hope  you  will 
have  ns  much  courage  as  these  gentle- 
men.' * 

•  And  I  hope  so  too,  madam,'  said  the 
Goyernor,    bowing.     Then   turning   to- 
wards Cagliostro  he  continued. 

'  Now,  sir,  in  my  turn ;  be  pleased  to 
gratify  me  by  drawing  my  horoscope, 
I  intrent  you.' 

•  'Tis  very  easily  done,'  said  Caglios- 
tro,   '  a  knock  on   the  head  with  a  hat- 
chet and  all  is  over.' 

A  cry  of  terror  rang  throughout  the 
room.  The  Duke  de  Richelieu  and 
Taverney  begged  Cagliostro  net  to  pro- 
ceed further,  but  feminine  xuriosity 
was  not  so  easily  satisfied. 

'  Frpm  what  you  say,  Count,'  said 
Madame  Dubarry,  '  one  would  really  be 
inclined  to  imagine  that  the  whole  uni- 
Yerse  is  to  die  by  violent  means.  How 
is  this,  we  are  only  eight,  and  five  of 
thfc  eight  have  already  been  condemned 
by  you  ?' 

'Oh!  you  will  readily  understand 
that  this  is  a  planned  thing,  and  that  we 
hfagh  at  it  madam,'  said  M.  de  Favras 
endeavoring  to  laugh,  but  affectedly. 

4  Undoubtedly  we  laugh  at  it,'  said 
the  Count  de  Huga,  '  and  whether  it  be 
true  or  false.' 

'  Oh !  I  will  also  laogh,'  rejoined  Ma- 
dame Dubarry,  '  for  I  would  not  by  my 
cowardice  dishonor  this  good  company. 
But  alas!  I  am  but  a  woman  and  shall 
not  have  the  honor  to  rank  with  you  in 
a  fatal  denouement.  A  woman  dies  in 
her  bed.  Alas !  my  death,  that  of  an 
old  woman,  sorrowful  and  forgotten, 
will  be  the  worst  of  deaths.  Is  it  not 
BO  M.  de  Cagliostro?' 

Saying  these  words  she  hesitated ; 
•he  gave  not  only  by  her  words  but  by 
her  manner,  a  pretext  to  the  prophet  to 
•ay  something  to  console  her,  but  Cag- 
liostro  said  nothing  that  was  consoling. 

Curiosity  was  stronger  than  anxiety, 
and  it  impelled  her  onwards. 

4  Come  now,  M.  de  Cagliostro,  do  an- 
swer me  ?'  said  Madame  Dubarry. 

•How  would  you  have  me  answer  yon, 
madam,  when  you  do  not  question  me  ?' 
The  Countess  hesitated. 
•  But—'  »aid  she. 


'  Come,  now  decide,'  said  Cagliostro, 
'  do  you  question  me,  yes  or  no  ?' 

The    Countess  made  an   effort,   and » 
after  being  encouraged  by  the  smiles  of 
the  company. 

'Well  then,  yes,'  said  she.  'I  will 
risk  it ;  tell  me  what  will  be  the  end  of 
Jeanne  de  Vanbernier,  Countess  Du- 
barry ?' 

'  On  the  scafiold,  madam,'  replied  the 
lugubrious  prophet. 

'/This  is  a  jest,  is  it  not,  sir?'  stam- 
mered the  Countess  with  a  supplicat- 
ing look. 

But  Cagliostro  had  been  too  much  pro- 
voked and  he  did  not  observe  her  look. 

'  Why  should  it  be  a  jest  ?'  asked  he. 

4  Because  in  order  to  be  condemned 
to  the  scaffold  one  must  have  either 
killed,  assassinated,  or  committed  some 
dreadful  crime,  and  because  in  all  prob- 
ability I  shall  never  commit  a  crime. 
Oh  !  you  must  be  jesting,  are  you  not  ?' 

'  Oh  !  good  heaven,  yes,'  replied  Cag- 
liostro, '  this  is  a  jest,  as  till  that  I  have 
predicted.' 

The  Countess  burst  into  a  loud  laugh 
j  which  an  experienced  observer  would 
I  have  conceived  to  be  too  noisy  to  be 
I  natural. 

'  Come,  M.  de  Favras,'  said  she,  'let 
us  at  once  order  our  mourning  coaches.' 

'That  would  be  altogether  useless, 
with  regard  to  you,  Countess,'  said 
Cagliostro. 

'  And  why  so,  sir  ?' 

'  Because  you  will  go  to  the  scaffold 
in  a  cart.' 

'Oh!  fie!  horrid!'  exclaimed  Ma- 
dame Dubarry.  '  Oh !  the  filthy  man  ! 
Marshal,  another  time  please  to  choose 
your  guests  of  a  more  agreeable  humor, 
or  I  will  never  visit  you  again.' 

'  Pardon  me,  madam,'  said  Cagliostro, 
'  but  you,  as  did  all  the  rest,  insisted  on  it.' 

'  But,  us.  well  as  to  all  the  rest,  you 
will  I  hope  grant  me  the  time  to  choose 
my  own  confessor?' 

'  It  would  be  a  superfluous  trouble 
Countess,'  said  Cagliostro. 

'  How  so?' 

'  The  last  who  will  ascend  the  scaf- 
fold with  a  confessor  wil  be — ' 

'  Will  be  ?'  inquired  the  company  sim- 
ultaneously. 

'  Will  be,  the  King  of  France !' 

And  Cagliostro  uttered  these  words 
in  so  hollow  and  lugubrious  a  tone  that 
it  passed  like  the  wings  of  the  angel  of 
death  over  the  whole  company  and 
chilled  them  to  the  soul. 

A  silence  of  some  minutes  ensued. 

During  this  time  Cagliostro   raised 


MYSTERIES  OF  THE  COURT  OF  LOUIS  XVI. 


21 


the  glass  of  water  to  his  lips  in  which  he 
had  read  all  these  sanguinary  prophecies 
but  it  scarcely  touched  them  when,  with 
an  invincible  disgust,  he  pushed  it  from 
him  as  it  had  been  a  bitter  chalice. 

While  doing  this  the  eyes  of  Caglios- 
tro  had  been  turned  on  Taverney. 

4  Ob. !'  exclaimed  the  latter,  who  be- 
Iteved  he  was  about  to  address  him,  '  do 
not  telLwhat  is  to  be  my  fate !  I  do  not 
ask  it  or  you.' 

'  Well,  then,  I  ask  it  in  his  place,' 
said  de  Richelieu. 

4  You,  Marshal  de  Richelieu,  may  feel 
perfectly  at  ease,  for  of  nil  present,you  are 
the  only  one  who  will  die  in  your  own  bed. 

'  The  coffee !  gentlemen,'  cried  the 
old  Marshal  delighted  with  the  predic- 
tion, '  let  us  go  to  take  our  coffee!' 

Every  one  rose.  But  before  going 
into  the  drawing  room,  the  Count  de 
Haga  approached  Cagliostro. 

'Sir,'  said  he,  '  I  do  not  attempt  to 
escape  my  fate  ;  but  tell  me  what  I 
should  mistrust?' 

4  A  muff,  Sire.' 

M.  de  Haga  left  the  room. 

4  And  I  ?'  inquired  Condorcet. 

•An  omelette.' 

4  Good !  I  renounce  eggs  forever,'  and 
then  followed  the  Count. 

4And  I ;'  said  Favras,  '  what  have  I  to 
fear?' 

1  A  Letter.' 

'  Good.     I  thank  you.' 

4  And  I  ?'  inquired  de  Launay. 

4  The  taking  of  the  Bastille.' 

4  Oh !  then  I  am  perfectly  at  'ease,' 
and  he  went  away  laughing. 

4  And  now  in  my  turn,'  cried  the 
.  Cotintess,  much  agitated. 

4  You,  lovely  Countess,  beware  of  the 
Place  Louis  XV !' 

4  Alas !'  rejoined  the  Countess.  '  I 
once  before  lost  my  way  there,  and  I 
suffered  greatly.  I  lost  my  senses.' 

4  Well,  Countess,  on  this  occasion 
you  will  again  lose  them,  never  again 
to  be  recovered.' 

Madame  Dubarry  uttered  a  loud 
shriek,  and  rushed  to  the  drawing-room 
after  the  other  guests. 

Cagliostro  was  about  to  follow  them. 

'  One  moment !'  crie8  de  Richelieu  ; 
'  the  only  persons  to  whom  you  have 
not  predicted  evil,  are  Taverney  and 
myself,  my  dear  sorcerer.' 

4  M.  de  Taverney  requested  that  I 
would  say  nothing  in  regard  to  him.' 

4  Oh!'  cried  Taverney,  clasping  his 
hands,  •  I  still  intrent  you  to  say  nothing. 

'  But  come  now,  in  order  to  prove  to  us 
the  power  of  your  ge  nius,  tell  us  one  thing 


of  which  we  alone  have  cogniznnr«j  ? 

4  What  is  it?'  demanded  Cagliostro, 
smiling. 

4  Well  now,,  tell  us  how  it'is  that  Ta- 
verney has  come  to  reside  at  Ver- 
sailles, instead  of  living  quietly  on  his 
boiiutiful  estate  of  Maison  Rouge, which 
the  King  repurchased  for  him  three 
years  iigo?' 

4  Nothing  more  easy,'  replied  Cagli- 
ostro. 4  Ten  years  ago,  M.  de  Tuver- 
ney  wished  to  give  his  daughter,  Ma- 
demoiselle Andree,  to  the  King,  Louia 
XV,  but  he  did  not  succeed.' 

'  Oh  !  Oh !'  groaned  Taverney. 

4  And  now  he  wishes  to  give  his  don, 
Philippe  de  Taverney,  to  Queen  Marie 
Antoinette  :  ask  him  if  I  speak  falsely.' 

4  Why  really,  cried  Taverney,  4  this 
man  is  a  sorcerer ;  or  may  the  devil 
seize  me  !' 

4 Oh!  Oh!'  exclaimed  the  Duke  de 
Richelieu,  4  speak  not  so  cavalierly  of 
the  devil,  my  old  comrade.' 

4  Terrible  !  terrible  !'  cried  de  Taver 
ney ;  and  he  turned  round  once  more 
to  implore  the  prudent  reserve  of  Cag- 
liostro ;  but  the  latter  had  disappeared. 

4  Come,  Taverney,  come,  let  us  go 
into  the  drawing-room,'  said  the  Mar- 
shal ;  '  they  will  take  their  coffee  with- 
out us,  or  our  "coffee  will  be  cold,  and 
that  will  be  worse  still.' 

He  hastened  to  the  drawing-room ;  but 
jt  was  deserted  :  not  one  of  the  guests 
had  had  the  courage  to  again  face  the 
author  of  the  terrible  predictions. 

The  wax  lights  were  burning  brightly 
in  the  candelabra ;  the  coffee  was  smo- 
king in  the  urn ;  the  fire  was  blazing 
on  the  hearth  ;  and  all  this,  uselessly. 

'  I'faith,  old  comrade,  it  appears  that 
we  must  take  our  coffee  tete-a-tete — 
Why,  what  the  devil  has  become  of 
you?' — and  Richelieu  looked  about  in 
every  direction  for  Taverney  ;  but  the 
little  old  man  had  slipped*away  like  all 
the  rest. 

'  Well,  no  matter,'  cried  the  Duke, 
chuckling  as  Voltaire  would  have  done, 
and  rubbing  his  white  and  shrivelled 
hands,  loaded  with  rings,  with  great 
glee  ;  '  I  am  to  be  the  only  one  of  this 
day's  company  who  is  to  die  in  his  bed. 
Ha!  ha!  in  my  bed!  Count  de  Cagliostro. 
I  am  not  an  unbeliever — I !  In  my  bed 
— was  it  not  so  ? — in  my  bed — and  the 
later  the  better.  Ho !  there,  my  valet 
de  chambre,  and  my  drops  !' 

The  valet  de  chambre  entered  with 
a  phial  in  his  hand  and  the  Marshal 
and  he  went  into  an  adjoining  bed  room. 

END    OF    THE    PROLOGCE. 


THE  QUEEN'S  NECKLACE. 


CHAPTER  I. 

TWO    0NKJTOWN    LADIES. 

THE  winter  of  1784,  that  monster 
which  devoured  a  sixth  part  of  France, 
we  have  seen  but  little  of,  although  it 
howled  around  the  dwelling  of  the  Duke 
de  Richelieu ;  but  we  were  there  too 
comfortably  ensconced  in  his  well  warm- 
ed and  perfumed  dining-room  to  feel 
its  dire  effects.  A  little  hoar  frost  on 
the  windows  is  a  luxury  of  nature  ad- 
ded to  the  luxury  of  man.  Winter  has 
its  diamonds,  its  powder  and  its  silver 
embroidery,  to  offer  to  the  rich  muffled 
up  in  furs  or  snugly  seated  in  a  close  car- 
riage, or  reclining  listlessly  on  the  soft 
cushioned  velvet  fqrniture  of  a  well 
warmed  room.  All  these  congelations 
are  a  pomp,  every  change  of  season,  ev- 
ery tempest  is  merely  a  variation  of 
scene  which  the  rich  from  their  win- 
dows gaze  upon  as  the  work  of  the  great 
and  eternal  mechanician. 

In  truth  he  who  is  warm  and  comfor- 
table may  admire  the  snow-clad  trees 
and  find  a  charm  even  in  the  gloomy 
perspective  which  winter  casts  over 
the  plains.  He  who  inhales  the  savory 
odors  of  the  dinner  that  awaits  him, 
may  fespire  from  time  to  time,  at  a  half 
opened  window  the  biting  Wast  of  the 
north  wind,  and  the  Icy  vapor  of  the 
snows  which  serve  but  to  invigorate  his 
appetite  and  his  ideas. 

He,  in  short,  who  after  a  day  of  en- 
joyment, wherein  his  fellow  men  have 
suffered  acutely,  throws  himself  luxu- 
riously upon  his  bedjif  ei<!rnlo\vn,  be- 
tween fine  sheets  and  warmed  to  the 
proper  degree,  that  man,  like  the  ego- 
tist of  whom  Lucretius  speaks  and 
whom  Voltaire  glorifies,  may  find  that 
every  thing  is  as  it  should  be  in  this 
best  possible  of  worlds. 

But  he  who  is  shivering  with  cold  ob- 
serves not  at  all  these  splendors  of  na- 
-  ture,  for  she  is  as  richly  clad  in  her 
enow  white  as  in  her  grass  green  man- 
tle. 

He  who  is  hungry,  looks  downward 
to  the  earth  and  raises  not  his  eyes  to 
heaven,  that  heaven  which  is  sunless 
and  consequently  smiles  not  on  the 
wretched. 


Now,  at  the  moment  of  which  we  are 
speaking,  that  is  to  say  about  the  mid- 
dle of  the  month  of  April,  three"  hun- 
dred thousand  unhappy  wretches,  dy- 
ing of  cold  and  hunger,  were  bewailing 
their  hard  fate  iti  the  city  of  Paris.  In 
Paris,  where  under  the  pretext  that  no 
city  in  the  world  contained  so  many 
rich,  no  provision  had  been  made  to 
prevent  the  poor  from  perishing  from 
cold  and  hunger. 

During  four  months  a  sky  of  adamant 
had  driven  the  wretched  inhabitants  of 
the  villages  into  the  city,  as  in  winter 
wolves  are  driven  from  the  woods  into 
the  villages. 

There  was  no  bread,  no  wood. 

There  was  no  bread  for  those  who 
were  exposed  to  cold,  no  wood  where- 
with to  cook  their  bread. 

All  the  provisions  which  had  been 
collected,  Paris  had  devoured  in  a 
month  ;  the  Mayor,  an  improvident  and 
incapable  man,  had  not  sufficient  fore- 
sight to  have  brought  into  the  city, 
confided  to  his  care,  two  hundred  thou- 
sand cords  of  wood  which  were  attain- 
able from  a  circuit  of  only  about  ten 
leagues  around  the  capital. 

He  gave  as  an  excuse  ; 

When  it  froze  hard,  that  the  frost 
prevented  the  horses  from  working ; 
when  it  thawed,  the  insufficient  num- 
ber of  carts  and  horses.  Louis  XVI, 
always  benevolent,  always  humane,  al- 
ways the  first  to  feel  the  physical  wants 
of  his  subjects,  whose  .social  wants 
more  readily  escaped  him,  Louis 
XVI,  began  by  appropriating  a  sum  of 
two  hundred  thousand  livres  to  the 
hiring  of  carts  and  horses,  and  after 
this  he  put  them  under  forcible  requisi- 
tion. Notwithstanding  this  the  con- 
sumption was  more  than  equal  to  the 
supply,  It  became  necessary  to  limit 
the  rich  purchasers.  No  one  had  the 
right  to  take  from  a  wood-yard  more 
than  one  cord  of  wood,  and  soon  this 
was  reduced  to  half  a  cord.  The  files 
of  applicants  were  then  seen  extending 
far  from  the  gates  of  the  wood-yard  aa 
was  subsequently  the  case  at  the  bakers 
doors.  The  King  expended  the  whole 
of  his  privy  purse  in  alms.  He  bor- 
rowed three  millions  on  the  security  of 
the  duti.-s  received  at  the  gates  of  Par- 


MYSTERIES  OF  THE  COURT  OF  LOUIS  XVI. 


23 


Is ;  and  applied  these  three  millions  to 
the  relief  of  the  unfortunate,  declaring 
that  every  thing  should  give  way  to 
the  urgency  of  cold  and  famine. 

The  Queen  on  her  side  gave  five  hun- 
dred louis  from  her  own  savings.  The 
convents,  the  hospitals  and  public  build- 
ings were  converted  into  asylums  for 
the  poor,  and  every  gate-way  to  of  the 
houses  of  Paris  was  thrown  open  by 
order  of  its  master,  following  the  ex- 
ample of  the  royal  residences,  to  admit 
into  their  court-yards  the  poor  people 
who  crowded  into  them  to  crouch 
around  the  large  fires  therein  lighted. 

They  hoped  to  get  on  in  this  way  un- 
til a  favorable  thaw  should  set  in. 

But  the  skies  were  inflexible.  Ev- 
ery evening  a  veil  half  rose  half  copper 
colored  extended  itself  along  the  hori- 
zon, and  the  stars  sparkled  brightly  and 
coldly  like  funeral  torches,  and  the 
nightly  frosts  condensed  into  lakes  of 
diamonds  the  pale  snow  which  the  noon 
tide  sun  had  for  a  moment  liquified. 

During  the  day  thousands  of  work- 
men with  pick-axes  and  shovels  broke 
up  the  snow  and  ice  and  piled  it  up 
before  the  houses,  so  that  a  durable 
rampart,  thick  and  humid,  obstructed 
one  half  of  every  street,  which  for  the 
most  part,  were  before  too  narrow. 
Heavy  carriages  with  wheels  sliding  in 
all  directions,  horses  stumbling  and  fal- 
ling at  eveiy  moment  pressed  the  poor 
passengers  against  these  icy  walls  so 
that  they  had  to  contend  against  three 
dangers,  that  of  slipping  down,  of  be- 
ing run  over  or  of  the  ice  and  snow  fai- 
ling upon  them. 

Soon  these  heaps  of  ice  and  show  be- 
came so  considerable  that  the  fronts  of 
the  shops  were  completely  hidden  by 
them,  the  passages  closed  up,  and  it 
was  found  necessary  to  discontinue 
piling  up  the  ice,  for  the  means  of  re- 
moving it  were  altogether  insufficient. 

Paris  thus  exhausted,  acknowledged 
itself  vanquished  and  allowed  winter  to 
take  its  own  course.  December,  Jan- 
uary, February  and  March  passed  thus. 
Sometimes  a  tnaw  of  two  or  three  days 
would  change  Paris  into  one  wide 
ocean,  for  all  the  sewers  and  water 
\vajrs  were  choked  up.  Some  of  the 
streets  during  these  times  could  only  be 
crossed  by  swimming.  Horses  fell  and 
were  drowned.  Carriages  did  not  ven- 
ture into  the  streets  even  at  a  foot  pace, 
they  would  have  become  boats. 

Paris,  always  true  to  its  character, 
made  songs  on  death  by  thaw,  as  it  had 
made  eongs  on  death  by  famine.  Peo- 


ple went  in  procession  to  the  market  to 
see  the  fish  women  sell  their  finny 
stocks,  and  run  along  in  wide  breeches 
and  enormous  father  boots,  coming 
above  their  knees,their  petticoats  tucked 
up  round  their  waists,  gesticulating  and 
splashing  each  other  in  the  species  of 
marsh  which  they  inhabited;  but  as 
these  thaws  were  but  transitory,  as  the 
ice  returned  more  opaque  and  more 
obstinate  than  ever,  as  the  Lakes  of  the 
day  before  became  a  sheet  of  shining 
crystal,  sledges  usurped  the  place  of 
wheeled  carriages,  and  glided  along, 
either  pushed  by  skaters  or  drawn  by 
horses,  rough  shod,  along  the  streets 
thus  changed  into  glassy  mirrors.  The 
Seine,  which  was  frozen  to  the  depth 
of  many  feet,  had  become  the  rendez- 
vous of  all  the  idlers,  who  exercised 
themselves  by  sliding  or  skating,  and 
who,  when  heated  by  these  gymnastic 
exercises,  as  soon  as  they  became  fa- 
tigued, ran  to  the  nearest  fire,  to  pre-  ' 
vent  th'e  perspiration  from  freezing  on 
their  limbs. 

The  continued  frost  having  thus  im- 
peded communication  by  water,  and 
very  much  obstructed  the  means  of 
transport  by  land,  the  moment  at  length 
arrived  when  it  was  feared  there  would 
be  no  possibility  of  receiving  farther 
supplies  of  provision,  and  that  Paris, 
that  gigantic  body,  would  succumb  for 
want  of  nourishment,  like  those  ceta- 
ceous monsters  in  the  polar  regions, 
who,  having  devoured  all  within  their 
reach,  remain  enclosed  in  the  thick- 
ribbed  ice,  and  die  from  inanition ;  not 
being  able,  like  the  smaller  fish  on 
which  they  prey,  to  escape  by  the  fis- 
sures to  more  genial  zones,  and  waters 
better  stocked. 

In  this  extremity,  the  King  sum- 
moned his  Council,  and  decided  that  an 
order  of  removal  from  Paris  should  be 
issued ;  or  rather,  that  the  following 
classes  of  persons  should  be  requested 
to  return  to  their  residences  in  the  pro-  ' 
vinces,  viz  :  all  bishops,  abbes,  monks 
not  over  anxious  to  fulfil  their  dutiesT 
governors,  intendants  of  provinces  who 
had  established  their  seat  of  govern- 
ment at  Paris;  and  finally,  the  magis- 
trates who>preferred  the  opera  to  their 
own  magisterial  chairs.  And  i:i  truth, 
all  these  people  consumed  Inrgr  quanti- 
ties of  wood  in  their  hotels  ;  they  coh- 
f  'imed  immense  quantities  of  provision 
i..  their  immense  kirchens. 

Besides  these,  there  were  all  the 
lords  who  had  estates  in  the  provinces 
aud  were  to  be  requested  to  withdraw 


24 


THE  QUEEN'S  NECKLACE ;  OR,  THE 


to  their  domains.  But  M.  Lenoir,  the 
lieutenant  of  police,  observed  to  the 
King,  thin  all  these  persons  not  having 
boen  guilty  of  any  offence,  could  not  be 
r  >mprlU«l  to  leave  Paris  at  twenty-four 
hqurs  notice ;  that  consequently  they 
would  delay  their  departure  as  much 
as  possible,  in  the  first  place  from  tlusir 
unwillingness  to  go  at  all ;  and  secondly, 
from  the  bad  state  of  the  roads,  and 
thus  a  thaw  would  take  place  before 
any  advantage  could  be  derived  from 
the  measure,  while  all  the  inconve- 
niences aiising  from  it  would  have 
been  produced. 

However,  the  compassion  of  the 
king  which  had  drained  the  coffers  of 
the  State,  the  charitable  tenderness  of 
the  queen  which  had  exhausted  her 
own  private  funds,  had  excited  the 
gratitude  of  the  people,  who  ingeniously 
consecrated,  by  monuments  as  ephe- 
meral as  the  evil  and  the  benefits  which 
had  been  bestowed  upon  them,  the 
remembrance  of  the  charities  of  Louis 
XVI.  and  the  queen.  As,  in  the  olden 
times,  when  soldiers  raised  trophies 
to  a  victorious  general,  formed  of  the 
arms  of  the  enemy  whom  he  had  van- 
quished upon  the  field  of  battle,  the 
Parisians,  when  they  had  struggled 
against  the  winter,  raised  obelisks  of  ice 
and  snow,  in  honor  of  the  King  and 
Queen.  All  assisted  in  the  work ;  la- 
bourers contributed  their  strength  to 
raise  the  masses,  workmen  moulded 
them  into  shape,  the  artist  gave  his 
talent,  and  the  obelisks  arose  elegant, 
bold  and  solid ;  the  poor  literary  man 
whom  the  benevolence  of  the  Sovereign 
had  sought  out  in  his  garret;  brought 
the  offering  of  an  inscription  dictated 
rather  by  the  feelings  of  the  heart,  than 
the  talent  of  the  head. 

At  the  end  of  March  a  thaw  declar- 
ed itself,  but  it  was  by  no  means  gene- 
ral, for  it  was  accompanied  by  occa- 
sional returns  of  frost,  which  prolonged 
the  misery,  the  hunger,  and  the  grief 
of  the  population  of  Paris,  at  the  same 
time  that  it  diminished  the  form  and 
the  solidity  of  the  monuments  which 
hud  been  erected. 

Misery  had  never  attained  to  such  a 
climax  as  during  this  period.  The 
intermitting  rays  of  sunshine  already 
possessing  some  degree  of  warmth, 
rendered  the  frosty  and  windy  nigh- s 
so  much  the  more  insufferable ;  i  - 
mense  masses  of  ice  had  begun  to  in  . 
arid  ran  down  into  the  Seine,  which «\  r- 
flowed  its  banks  in  all  directions.  Hut 
in  the  beginning  of  April,  one  of 


those  returns  of  frost  of  which  ,we 
have  spoken,  again  occurred;  the  obe- 
lisks, from  which  was  already  stream- 
ing that  humidity  which  predicted 
their  speedy  dissolution,  the  obelisks, 
half  melted,  became  anew  solidified,  but 
shapeless  and  much  lessened.  A  mantle 
of  snow  covered  the  boulevards  and  the 
quays,  and  sledges  were  again  seen 
with  their  prancing  horses.  These 
caused  much  delight  upon  the  quays 
and  boulevards.  But  in  the  streets 
carriages  and  one  horse  cabriolets  if 
they  moved  rapidly  over  the  snow, 
became  the  .terror  of  the  pedestrians 
who  could  not  hear  them  approaching, 
and,  being  hindered  by  the  mounds  of 
ice,  could  not  escape  them,  but  fre- 
quently fell  under  the  wheels,  while 
endeavoring  to  fly  from  them. 

In  a  few  days,  Paris  was  full  of 
wounded  and  dying  persons.  Some 
had  their  legs  broken  by  falling  on  the 
sheet  ice,  others  their  ribs  knocked  in 
by  the  shafts  of  cabriolets,  which, 
driven  rapidly  along,  could  not  be  pulled 
up  in  time  upon  the  slippery  surface. 
The  police  then  thought  it  necessary 
to  devise  some  means  of  preserving 
those  who  had  escaped  death  from 
cold,  hunger  and  inundation,  from  be- 
ing crushed  to  death  by  carriage  wheels 
Penalties  were  therefore  exacted  from 
the  rich  who  thus  rode  down  the  poor. 
In  those  days,  the  reign  of  the  aristo- 
crats, there  was  aristocracy  even  in 
the  mode  of  driving.  A  Prince  of  the 
blood  drove  full  tilt;  and,  without  crying 
giye,'  (take  care!)  a  Duke  or  Peer,  a 
gentleman  and  an  opera  dancer,  drove 
at  a  fast  trot ;  a  president  or  financier 
at  a  more  gentle  trot,  the  dandy  drove 
himself,  and  his  jockey  standing  behind 
the  cabriolet,  cried  take  care  !  after  his 
master  had  run  against,  or  had  knocked 
down  some  unfortunate  wretch. 

And   then,  as  Mercier  says,  they  got 

up  again   as   they  could ;  but  after  all, 

so  that  the  Parisian  can  see  beautiful 

swan-necked  sledges  racing  along  the 

boulevards,  so  long  as  he  can  admire 

the  lovely  ladies  of  the  Court  in  their 

sable   and   ermine  pelisses  flying  like 

meteors   over  the    shining   surface    of 

the     ice,    so     long   as   the   gilt  bells, 

the    purple    netting,    and    the    horses 

plumes,    amuse   the  children  standing 

in  a    row   to    see   all    these    splendid 

I  things   pass   by,    the  citizen    of  Paris 

!  forgets  the  want  of  care  of  the  police, 

j  and  the  brutality  of  coachmen,  whilst 

I  the  poor  man,   on  his  side,  forgets,  at 

I  all  events  for  the  moment,  his  misery, 


MYSTERIES  OF  THE  COURT. OF  LOUIS  XVI. 


being  accustomed,  as  he  was  in  those 
days,  to  being  patronised  by  the  rich,  or 
by  those  who  affected  to  be  so. 

Now  it  was  under  the  circumstances, 
we  have  just  described,  and  about  a 
week  after  the  dinner  given  at  Ver- 
sailles, by  the  Duke  de  Richelieu,  that 
four  elegant  sledges  were  seen  enter- 
ing Paris,  gliding  over  the  hardened 
snow  in  the  Cours-la-Reine  and  the 
Champs  Elysfes.  All  around  Paris  the 
snow  had  retained  its  virginal  white- 
ness, but  in  Paris  itself,  on  the  con- 
trary, a  hundred  thousand  people 
trampling  it  under  foot  each  hour,  soon 
blacken  and  deflower  the  splendor  of 
the  wintry  mantle. 

The  sledges,  which  had  glided  drily 
over  the  exterior  road,  stopped  on 
reaching  the  boulevard,  that  is  to  say,  as 
soon  as  the  mud  began  to  usurp  the 
place  of  snow.  In  fact,  the  noon-day 
sun  had  softened  the  atmosphere,  and 
a  thaw  had  momentarily  commenced  ; 
we  say  momentarily,  for  the  pureness 
of  the  air  gave  promise  that  the  coming 
night  would  be  attended  with  that  icy 
north-east  wind  which  burns  up  the 
first  budding  leaves  and  all  precocious 
flowers. 

In  the  sledge  which  led  the  van  were 
two  men  wrapped  up  in  brown  great 
coata,  with  double  collars  ;  the  only  dif- 
ference to  be  observed  in  the  two  coats 
was  that  the  fro'gs  and  the  buttons  of 
the  one  were  of  gold,  while  those  of 
the  other  were  of  silk. 

These  two  men  drawn  by  a  magni- 
ficent black  horse  whose  nostrils  gave 
forth  a  cloud  of  steam,  preceded  a  se- 
cond sledge,  which  they  every  now  and 
then  turned  round  to  observe. 

In  the  second  sledge  were  two  ladies 
so  well  muffled  up  in  their  furs  that 
no  one  could  see  their  faces.  We  may 
even  aver  that  it  would  have  been  diffi- 
cult to  say  to  what  sex  they  belonged, 
but  for  the  height  of  their  head-dresses, 
on  the  top  of  which  was  a  small  hat 
with  waving  plumes. 

From  the  colossal  edifice  of  these 
head-dresses  entwined  with  braids  of 
ribband,  and  small  articles  of  jewellery, 
a  cloud  of  white  powder  continually 
escaped,  as  winter  winds  shake  from 
the  trees  a  cloud  of  the  hoar  frost  which 
covers  them. 

These  two  ladies  wpre  seated  close 
to  each  other,  and  conversing  without 
paying  any  attention  to  the  crowd  of 
spectators  who  were  gazing  at  them  as 
they  passed  along  the  boulevard. 

We  had  omitted   to  mention  that  af- 
4 


ter  a  moment's  hesitation  the  four 
sledges  had  resumed  their  course. 

One  of  the  ladies,  the  tallest  and 
most  majestic  of  the  two,  held  a  fine 
embroidered  cambric  handkerchief  to 
her  lips,  and  sat  with  head  erect  not- 
withstanding the  piercingly  cold  wind, 
the  sharpness  of  whichxwas  inci'eased 
by  the  rapid  motion  of  the  sledge.  The 
clock  of  Saint  Croix  d'Antln  had,  just 
struck  five,  and  night  was  fast  closing  in 
on  Paris,  and  with  night  came  the  frost. 

At  this  moment  the  equipage  had 
nearly  reached  the  Saint  Denis  gate. 

The  lady  of  the  sledge,  she  who  held 
a  handkerchief  over  her  mouth,  made 
a  sign  to  the  two  men  who  formed  the 
advanced  guard,  who  urged  on  their 
horse  and  were  soon  at  a  distance. 
Then  the  lady  turned  towards  the  rear 
guard  composed  of  two  other  sledges 
each  driven  by  a  coachman  out  of  li- 
very, and  making  a  sign  to  them  which 
was  immediately  understood,  they 
quickly  disappeared  by  the  rue  Saint 
Denis. 

On  the  other  hand,,  as  we  have  be- 
fore said,  the  sledge  in  which  were  the 
two  men,  soon  distanced  that  of  the  la- 
dies, and  disappeared  amid  the  haze  of 
evening  which  was  thickening  around 
the  colossal  buildings  of  the  Bastille. 

The  second  sledge  on  reaching  the 
boulevard  Menilmontant,  stopped ;  in 
that  quarter  there  were  but  few  pedes- 
trians, the  coming  night  had  dispersed 
them  ;  moreover,  in  that  remote 
neighborhood,  few  citizens  would  ven- 
ture without  torches  and  an  escort, 
since  winter  had  sharpened  the  teeth 
of  three  or  four  thousand  suspicious 
looking  mendicants,  who  had  by  a  gen- 
tle transition  become  thieves. 

The  lady  whom  we  have  designated 
already  as  giving  orders,  with  the  tip 
of  her  finger  touched  the  shoulder  of 
the  coachman,  who  immediately  pulled 
up. 

4  Weber,'  said  she  '  how  much  time 
will  it  take  to  bring  the  cabriolet  to  the 
place  I  mentioned  ?' 

•  Matame,  dakes  de  gapriolay  ?'  en- 
quired the  coachman  with  a  very  de- 
cided German  accent. 

4  Yes,  I  will  return  by  the  streets,  to 
see  the  fires.  Now  the  streets  being 
still  more  muddy  than  the  boulevards, 
a  sledge  would  be  very  uncomfortable, 
and  besides  which  I  feel  very  cold,  and 
you  too,  dear  little  one  ?'  added  the  la- 
dy addressing  her  companion. 

4  Yes,  madam,'  replied  the  latter. 

4  You   have  heard   me  Weber,   you 


26 


THE  QUEEN'S  NECKLACE ;  OR,  THE 


will  bring  the  cabriolet  to  the  appointed 
place  ?' 

'  Ferry  veil,  matam.' 

'  How  much  time  will  it  take  ?' 

4  Alf  ein  hour.' 

''Tis  well;  just  see  what  o'clock  it 
is  dear  little  one.' 

The  youngest  of  the  two  ladies  put 
her  hand  into  her  pelisse  pocket  and 
drawing  out  her  watch,  ascertained  the 
hour  though  with  some  difficulty,  for  as 
we  have  said,  the  evening  was  closing 
in. 

4  A  quarter  to  six,'  she  replied. 

4  Well  then,  Weber,  at  a  quarter  be- 
fore seven.' 

And  while  speaking  these  words  the 
lady  lightly  jumped  from  the  sledge, 
gave  her  hand  to  her  friend,  and  was 
moving  away,  while  the  coachman  with 
a  gesture  of  respectful  despair  mut- 
tered loud  enough  to  be  heard  by  his 
mistress 

4  Mein  Got!  vot  imbroodence  !' 

The  two  ladies  began  laughing,  muf- 
fled themselves  up  in  their  pellisses  the 
collars  of  which  reached  the  tops  of 
their  ears,  crossed  the  foot  path  on  the 
boulevard,  amusing  themselves  by  mak- 
ing the  snow  crackle  beneath  their  tiny 
feet,  encased  in  well  furred  shoes. 

4  You  who  have  good  eyes,  Andree,' 
naid  the  lady  who  appeared  the  elder, 
and  who  nevertheless  could  not  have 
been  more  than  thirty  or  thirty-two 
years  old,  4  try  if  you  can  read  the  name 
of  the  street  upon  this  corner  here.' 

'  Rue  du  pont-aux  choux,  Madam,' 
said  the  younger  one,  laughing. 

4  What  street  can  that  be,  Pont-aux 
chaux.  Why,  good  Heaven  !  we  have 
lost  our  way.  I  am  sure  *hey  told  me 
the  second  street  to  the  right.  But 
what  a  delightful  smell  there  is  here 
of  hot  bread,  Andre e.' 

4  That  is  by  no  means  surprising,' 
replied  the  other,  4  for  we  are  close  to 
the  door  of  a  baker's  shop.' 

1  Well,  then,  let  us  ask  him  where  is 
the  Rue  Saint-Claude.1 

And  she  who  thus  spoke  was  advan- 
cing towards  the  door. 

•  Oh  !  do  not  go  in,  Madam,'  said  the 
other,  4  leave  that  to  me.' 

4  The  Rue  Saint  Claude,  my  lovely 
little  ladies,'  cried  a  joyous  hearty 
voice,  4  you  wish  to  know  where  is  the 
Rue  Saint  Claude  ?' 

The  two  ladies  turned  round  at  the 
same  moment,  and  looked  in  the  direc- 
tion whence  the  voice  proceeded,  and 
saw  leaning  against  the  baker's  door,  his 
foreman,  with  his  jacket  loosely  thrown 


over  his  shoulders,  his  breast  and  legs 
quite  bare,  notwithstanding  the  intense 
cold. 

4  Why,  'tis  a  naked  man !'  exclaimed 
the  younger  lady,  4  Are  we  then  in 
Oceania?'  and  she  retreated  a  step 
hiding  herself  behind  her  companion. 

4  You  are  looking  for  the  Rue  Saint 
Claude  ?'  repeated  the  man  of  dough, 
who  did  not  at  ah1  comprehend  the  re- 
trograde movement  made  by  the  younger 
of  the  two  ladies,  and  who  being  accus- 
tomed to  his  own  mode  of  dress  was 
far  from  attributing  to  it  the  centrifugal 
power,  the  result  of  which  we  have 
just  described. 

'Yes,    my    friend,    the    Rue   Saint* 
Claude,'   replied   the  elder  of  the  two 
ladies,  restraining  at  the   same  time  a 
strong  desire  to  laugh  outright. 

4  Oh !  there  is  nothing  difficult  in 
that,  and,  besides,  I  will  conduct  you 
there  myself,'  replied  the  hearty  flour 
bespattered  youth,  who  accompanying 
his  word  by  action,  began  to  extend  the 
immensity  of  his  meagre  legs  the  feet 
of  which  were  thrust  into  enormous 
wooden  shoes  as  large  as  boats. 

4  Oh !  no,  by  no  means,'  said  the 
elder  of  the  two  ladies,  who  doubtless, 
did  not  at  all  relish  the  idea  of  being 
met  accompanied  by  such  a  guide,  4  only 
point  out  the  street  to  us  without  giv- 
ing yourself  more  trouble,  and  we'll 
endeavor  to  follow  your  directions.' 

4  It  is  the  first  street  to  the  right,  ma- 
dam,' replied  the  guide,  discreetly  with- 
drawing to  his  shop-door. 

'  Thanks !'  simultaneously  cried  the 
two  ladies. 

And  they  set  off  running  in  the  indi- 
cated direction,  stifling  their  laughter 
in  their  muffs. 


CHAPTER    II. 

AN    INTERIOR. 

EITHER  we  have  calculated  too  posi- 
tively on  the  memory  of  our  reader,  or 
he  will  at  once  have  remembered  the 
Rue  Saint  Claude,  the  eastern  end  of 
which  joins  the  boulevard,  and  the  wes- 
tern the  Rue  Saint  Louis ;  in  fact  he 
has  seen  more  than  one  of  the  person- 
ages who  have  played,  or  who  will  play, 
a  part  in  this  history,  wending  their  way 
through  it  in  former  times,  that  is  to 
say,  when  the  great  physician  Joseph 
Balsamo  took  up  his  residence  there 
with  his  sibyl  Lorenza  and  his  master 
Althotas. 


MYSTERIES  OF  THE  COURT  OF  LOUIS  XVI. 


27 


In  1784  as  in  1770  the  time  at  which 
we  first  conducted  our  readers  to  the 
spot,  the  street  itself  was  a  very  decent 
street,  not  very  well  lighted  up,  'tis 
true,  nor  very  clean,  for  that  is  also 
true ;  but,  in  short,  it  was  not  much 
frequented,  was  little  built  upon  and 
little  known  ;  but  it  bore  the  name  of  a 
saint,  and  its  quality  of  being  a  street  in 
the  Marais,  and  as  such  it  sheltered,  in 
the  three  or  four  houses  of  which  it 
consisted,  several  small  fund-holders, 
several  poor  trades-people,  and  many 
poor  paupers  omitted  in  the  parish  lists. 

Besides  these  three  or  four  houses, 
there  was  at  the  corner  of  the  boule- 
vard, a  mansion  of  grand  appearance  of 
which  the  Rue  Saint  Claude  might 
have  been  proud,  being  a  highly  aristo- 
cratic building;  but  this  mansion,  the 
high  windows  of  which,  would  on  festal 
days,  have  illuminated  the  whole  street, 
over  the  wall  of  the  court-yard,  from 
the  mere  reflection  of  its  candelabras 
and  its  lustres ;  this  mansion,  we  were 
about  to  say,  was  the  blackest,  the  most 
silent  and  the  most  hermetically  closed 
of  all  the  houses  in  the  quarter. 

The  gate  of  its  court-yard  never 
opened :  the  windows  wadded  with  lea- 
thern cushions,  had  on  each  leaf  of 
their  blinds  on  every  moulding  of  the 
shutters,  a  layer  of  dust  which  physio- 
logists or  geologists  would  have  calcula- 
ted must  have  required  at  least  ten 
years  for  its  formation. 

Sometimes  an  idler  passing  by,  an  in- 
quisitive person  or  a  neighbor,  would 
approach  the  carriage  gate  and  peeping 
through  the  immense  key  hole  would 
examine  the  court-yard. 

He  would  there  see  nothing  but  tufts 
of  rank  grass  growing  between  the  pav- 
ing stones,  and  green  mould  and  moss 
upon  the  stone  slabs.  Sometimes  an 
enormous  rat,  sovereign  of  the  aban- 
doned domain,  would  quietly  cross  the 
yard  to  dive  into  one  of  the  cellars,  a 
modesty  which  was  altogether  super- 
fious,  when  he  had  at  his  sole  and  en- 
tire disposal  saloons  and  cabinets  so 
much  more  commodious,  and  where  no 
cats  could  offer  him  annoyance. 

If  it  happened  to  be  a  mere  passer 
by  or  one  simply  curious,  after  having 
ascertained  the  perfect  solitude  of  the 
mansion,  he  would  soon  continue  his 
walk ;  but  if  it  were  a  neighbor,  as  the 
interest  which  he  attached  to  the  hotel 
was  much  greater,  he  would  remain, 
almost  always,  long  enough  to  be  joined 
by  a  second  neighbor,  attracted  by  curi- 
osity as  eager  as  his  own  ;  and  then 


would  commence  a  conversation  of 
which  we  are  pretty  nearly  positive  wa 
can  give  the  substance,  if  not  the  pre- 
cise details. 

'  Neighbor,'  says  the  one  who  is  not 
peeping,  to  the  one  who  peeps,  '  what 
is  it  that  you  see  in  the  Count  de  Balsa- 
mo's  house,  that  you  are  observing  so 
intently  ?' 

'  Neighbor,'  replied  the  one  who  has 
his  eye  to  the  key  hole,  to  the  other 
who  has  not  that  advantage,  '  I  §ee  the 
rat.' 

'  Oh  !  then  will  you  allow  me4  ?' 

And  the  second  inquisitive  person  in- 
stals  himself  at  the  key  hole. 

'Do  you  see  him  ?'  says  the  one  dis- 
possessed to  the  one  in  possession. 

'  Yes,'  replied  the  latter,'  '  I  see  him. 
Oh !  sir,  he  has  grown  fatter.' 

'You  think  so  ?' 

'  Yes,  I  am  sure  of  it.' 

'  I  do  not  doubt  it;  he  has  nothing  to 
trouble  him.' 

'  And  certainly,  whatever  people  may 
say,  there  must  be  some  tit-bits  in  the 
house.' 

'  Tit-bits  do  you  say  ?' 

'  Why,  certainly !  M.  de  Balsamo 
disappeared  so  suddenly  that  he  must 
have  forgotten  something.' 

'  Why,  neighbor,  when  a  house  is 
half-burnt  down,  what  do  you  imagine 
can  have  been  forgotten  ?' 

'  In  truth,  neighbor,  I  believe  you 
may  be  right..' 

And  after  having  once  more  looked 
at  the  rat,  the  neighbors  would  separate, 
alarmed  at  having  said  so  much  on  so 
mysterious  and  delicate  a  matter. 

And  in  fact  after  the  burning  of  the 
mansion,  or  rather  of  a  part  of  it,  Bal- 
samo had  disappeared,  and  no  repairs 
having  been  effected,  the  house  had 
been  abandoned. 

We  will  leave  it  then  rising  above  the 
neighboring  houses,  gloomy  and  damp, 
its  terraces  covered  with  snow,  and  its 
roof  broken  down  in  parts  by  the  action 
of  the  flames.  We  could  not,  however, 
pass  by  this  old  mansion  without  paus- 
ing before  it  as  an  old  acquaintance ; 
then  crossing  the  street  from  the  left 
side  to  the  right,  let  us  examine  a  high 
j  narrow  house,  in  a  garden  enclosed  by 
,  a  high  wall,  rising  like  a  tall  white 
,  tower  and  standing  out  in  bold  relief 
.  from  the  grey  sky. 

From  the  top  of  this  house,   a  chim- 

'  ney  rises  like  a  lightning  conductor,  and 

immediately   over  the  summit  of  this 

chimney   a  brilliant  star    shines    and 

sparkles. 


28 


THE  QUEEN'S  NECKLACE;    OR,  THE 


The  last  story  of  the  house  would  be 
lost  unperceived  in  rhe  immensity  of 
sjmce,  hut  for  n  rny  of  light  "which  red- 
dens two  of  the  three' windows  in  the 
front. 

The  other  stones  are  dark  and  gloo* 
my.  Are  their  imrmtes  already  asleep  ? 
Are  they  economising  beneath  their 
blankets,  candles  which  are  so  dear 
ami  wood  which  is  so  scarce  this  year  ? 
However  this  may  be,  these  four  sto- 
ries giye  no  signs  of  life,  while  the  fifth 
not  only  lives,  but  shines  forth  with  a 
certain  degree  of  affectation. 

Let  us  knock  at  the  door  and  ascend 
the  gloomy  staircase ;  it  terminates  at 
thev  fifth  story,  where  our  affairs  now 
call  us.  A  common  ladder  placed 
against  the  wall  leads  to  the  garret 
above. 

A  deer's  foot  hangs  beside  the  door 
as  a  bell  pull ;  a  rope  mat  lies  before 
it. 

The  first  door  being  opened,  we  enter 
a  dark  and  unfurnished  room ;  it  is  the' 
onu  of  which  the  window  is  not  illumi- 
nated. It  serves  as  an  ante-chamber 
and  leads  into  a  second  one,  the  details 
and  furniture  of  which  deserve  all  our 
attention. 

The  floor  is  tiled  instead  of  being  of 
inlaid  wood,  the  doors  are  rudely  paint- 
ed, three  white  arm  chairs  covered  with 
yellow  velvet,  n  poor  sofa,  the  cushions 
of  which  have  become  singularly  mea- 
ger from  the  effects  of  age. 

Our  attention  is  at  first  attracted  by 
two  portraits  hanging  against  the  wall. 
A  candle  and  a  lamp,  the  one  placed 
upon  n  thiee-legged  stand,  the  other  on 
the  chimney-piece,  combine  their  rays 
BO  as  to  make  these  two  portraits  the 
focus  of  their  light. 

A  cap  upon  his  head,  a  long  pale  face, 
dull  eyes,  painted  beard,  a  ruffle  round 
his  neck,  the  first  of  these  portraits  is 
recommended  by  its  notoriety ;  they 
are  the  features,  strikingly  resembling, 
of  Henry  III,  King  of  France  and 
Poland. 

Beneath  it  is  inscribed  in  black  let- 
ters, on  an  ill  gilt  frame, 

Henry  de  Valois. 

The  other  frame  had  been  more 
recently  gilt,  and  the  portrait  which 
was  as  fresh  with  regard  to  the  paint- 
ing as  the  other  was  antiquated,  repre- 
sents a  young  woman  with  bright  black 
eyes,  nose  straight  and  thin,  high 
cheek  bones,  and  a  small  mouth.  Her 
head  is  dressed  or  rather  crashed 
beneath  an  edifice  of  hair  and  rib- 
bands, in  comparison  with  which  the 


cap  of  Henry  III,  is  but  a  mole  hill  be- 
side a  pyramid. 

Under  this  portrait  is  also  inscribed 
in  black  letters, 

Jeanne  de  Valois. 

And  if  you  are  desirous,  after  having 
examined  the  tireless  hearth,  the 
miserable  cotton  curtains  of  the  bed, 
ornamented  with  faded  green  damask 
now  almost  yellow ;  if  you.  are  desirous 
to  ascertain  what  connection  can  exist 
between  these  portraits,  and  the  inha- 
bitants of  this  fifth  story,  you  have  only 
to  turn  your  eyes  towards  &  small  oak 
table,  upon  which  a  woman  plainly 
dressed,  is  leaning  her  left  elbow  and 
examining  several  sealed  letters  to  as- 
certain that  the  addresses  have  been 
correctly  written. 

This  young  woman  is  the  original  of 
the  portrait. 

At  three  paces  from  her,  in  a  semi- 
inquisitive,  semi-respectful  attitude, 
stands  a  little  waiting  woman  sixty 
years  of  age,  attired  little  one  of 
Gretise's  duennas ;  she  is  looking  on, 
and  waiting  the  orders  of  her  mistress. 

1  Jeanne  de  Valois,'  us  we  have  said, 
was  the  inscription. 

But  then,  if  this  lady  was  actuafly  a 
Valois,  how  happens  it  that  Henry  the 
Third,  the  Sybarite  King,  the  beruffled 
voluptuary,  could  endure,  even  when 
observing  it  only  from  his  portrait,  the 
spectacle  of  so  much  squalid  misery, 
when  the  party  Buffering  it  belonged 
not  only  to  his  race,  but  bore  his  own 
illustrious  name  ?' 

We  shall  endeavor  to  clear  up  this 
mystery  so  dishonorable,  so  degrading 
to  one  of  the  most  ancient  families  of 
Europe. 

Moreover,  the  lady  who  occupied  this 
fifth  story  did  not  by  her  person  belie 
the  descent  she  claimed.  She  had  white 
and  delicate  hands,  which  from  time 
to  time  she  warmed,  by  placing  under 
her  arms,  folded  across  her  chest.  Her 
feet  were  small  and  tapering,  on  which 
she  wore  velvet  slippers  that  had  still 
pretensions  to  elegance,  and  she  at- 
tempted to  warm  them  by  stamping  on 
the  tiled  floor,  shining  and  cold  as  the 
ice  that  covered  Paris. 

Then  as  the  breeze  whistled  under 
the  doors,  and  through  the  crannies  of 
the  windows,  the  old  waiting  woman 
shrugged  her  shoulders  and  looked 
wistfully  at  the  fireless  hearth. 

As  to  the  lady,  the  mistress  of  the 
apartment,  she  went  on  counting  the 
letters  and  reading  their  superscrip- 
tions. 


MYSTERIES  OF  THE  COURT  OF  LOUIS  XVI.  29 


And  after  examining  each  letter  and 
address  she  made  a  calculation. 

•  Madame  de  Misery,'  murmured  she, 
1  first  tiring  woman  to  her  Majesty.  ^1 
cannot  calculate  upon  more  than  six 
louis  from  this  quarter,  having  received 
something  already.' 

And  she  heaved  a  sigh. 

'  Madame  Patrix,  waiting  woman  to 
the  Queen  two  louis.' 

4  Monsieur  d'Ormesson— an  audience. 

4  Monsieur  de  Calonne — an  opinion. 

'  Monsieur  de  Rohan — a  visit,  and  we 
will  manage  so  that  he  shall  renew  it,' 
said  the  lady,  smiling.* 

4  We  have,  therefore,"  she  continued, 
in  the  same  monotonous  tone,  '  assured 
ourselves  eight  louis,  during  the  next 
week.' 

And  she  raised  her  head. 

1  Dame  Clothilde,'  she  said,'  do  snuff 
that  candle.' 

The  old  woman  obeyed,  and  then 
resumed  her  position,  serious  and  at- 
tentive as  before. 

This  species  of  inquisition,  of  which 
she  was  the  object,  appeared  to  annoy 
the  young  lady. 

4  Just  see,  Clothilde,'  said  she, '  if  you 
cannot  find  some  end  of  a  wax  candle, 
it  is  hateful  to  use  tallow.' 

4  There  is  not  any,'  replied  the  old 
woman. 

4  Well,  try  to  find  one.' 

4  But  where  shall  I  look  ? 

4  Why,  in  the  ante-chamber.' 

4  It  is  very  cold  out  there.' 

4  There  now,  there  is  somebody  ring- 
ing,' observed  the  young  lady. 

4  Madame  is  mistaken,'  said  the  ob- 
stinate old  woman. 

4 1  thought  I  heard  some  one,  dame 
Clothilde.' 

And  seeing  that  the  old  woman  did  .not 
budge,  she  yielded,  muttering  to  herselJ 
as  people  generally  do  when  from  any 
motive  they  have  allowed  their  inferior 
to  assume  an  influence  over  them.  Then 
she  resumed  her  calculations. 

4  Eight  louis,  out  of  which  I  owe 
three  in  the  neighborhood.' 

She  took  up  her  pen  and  wrote  : 

'  Three  louis,  five  promised  to  M.  de 
La  Mothe  to  enuble  him  to  put  up 
with  his  residence  at  Bar-sur-Aube  ; 
poor  devil !  our  marriage  has  not  en- 
riched him.  But  patience.' 

And  she  smiled  again,  but  this  time 
looking  at  herself  in  a  glass  which  hung 
between  the  two  portraits. 

'Now,  then,'  she  continued,  ljour- 
nies  from  Paris  to  Versailles,  and  from 
Versailles  to  Paris,  one  louis.' 


And  she  wrote  down  this  new  figure 
in  the  column  of  expenses. 

4  Living  for  one  week,  one  louis.' 

And  she  wrote  that  down  also. 

'  Dress,  hackney  coach  hire,  presents 
to  the  porters  of  the  houses  where  I  go 
to  solicit,  four  louis.  Is  that  all  I  have 
to  charge  ?  Let  us  add  it  up.' 
-  But  while  adding  up  she  suddenly 
paused,  saying : 

There  is  somebody  ringing  I  tell  you. 

4  No,  Madam,'  replied  the  old  woman, 
who  seemed  nailed  to  her  place,  '  it  is 
not  here,  it  is  below,  on  the  fourth 
story.' 

'Four,  six,  eleven,  fourteen  louis ; 
six  less  than  I  want,  and  iny  whole 
wardrobe  requires  renewing,  and  this 
old  brute  to  be  paid,  that  I  may  get  rid 
of  her.' 

And  then  suddenly. 

4  But  I  tell  you  again,  some  one  itf 
ringing  at  our  door,'  cried  she  angrily. 

Thiei  time  the  most  unwilling  ear 
could  not  have  denied  it,  the  bell  was 
rung  so  violently,  and  vabrated  so  long, 
that  the  clapper  struck  the  wainscoting 
at  least  a  dozen  times. 

On  hearing  this  noise,  and  while  the 
old  wonian  was  shaking  off  he^r' torpor, 
her  mistress,  active  as  a  squirrel,' 
snatched  up  the  letters  and  papers^ 
scattered  upon  the  table,  threw  them 
into  a  drawer,  and  after  giving  a  rapid 
glance  around  the  room  to  assure  herRelf 
that  every  thing  was  in  due  order,  took 
her  seat  upon  the  sofa,  in  the  attitude 
of  a  person  who  was  suffering  but  re- 
signed. 

We  must  however  hasten  to  say, 
that  it  washer  body  only  that  remnined 
inert.  Her  eyes  active,  eager,  vigilnnt, 
consulted  the  glass  in  which  was  re- 
flected the  outer  door,  while  her  ears 
were  on  the  stretch  to  catch  the  slight- 
est sound. 

The  duenna  opened  the  door,  and  she 
was  heard  muttering  some  words  in  the 
ante-chamber. 

Them  a  clear  soft  voice,  though  not 
deficient  in  firmness,  pronounced  these 
words, 

'  Is   not  this   the   residence   of   the 
Countess  de  La  Mothe  T 
.    '  The  Countess  de  La  Mothe-Valoia,' 
added  ClothihV,  with  »  nusal twang. 

'Oh!  that  is  it  precisely,  my  good 
dame.  Is  Madame  de  La  Mothe  at 
home?' 

4  Yes,  madam,  and  suffering  too  much 
from  illness  to  go  out.' 

During  this  colloquy,  of  which  she 
had  not  lost  a  word,  the  pretended  in- 


THE  QUEEN'S  NECKLACE ;  OR,  THE 


ratid,  having  attentively  consulted  the 
looking-glass,   had  seten  that  it   was   a 
lady  who   was    questioning    Clothilde,  , 
and  that  this  lady,  from  her  appearance,  j 
undoubtedly  belonged  to  the  upper  class 
of  society.     She  immediately  jumped 
from  the   sofa,  and,  threw  herself  into 
an  arm  chair,  in  order  to  leave  the  seat 
of  honor  to  the  stranger. 

While  performing  this  evolution,  shp 
could  not  observe  that  the  visiter  had 
turned  round  upon  the  landing  place : 
and  had  said  to  another  person  who  had 
remained  outside, 

*  You  can  come  in,  madam,  this  is  the 
place.' 

The  door  was  again  closed,  and  the 
two  ladies  who  hacTinquiretl  their  way 
to  the  Rue  Saint  Claude,  entered  the 
apartment  of  the  Countess  de  La 
Mothe- Valois. 

'  Who  am  I  to  announce  to  my  mis- 
tress the  Countess  ?'  inquired  Clothilde, 
curiously  though  respectfully,  holding 
up  the  eandle  to  the  faces  of  the  two 
ladies. 

'  Announce  a  lady  des  Bonnes- Oeu- 
vres,'*  replied  the  elder. 

•Of  Paris?' 

•  No,  of  Versailles.' 

Clothilde  went  into  her  mistress's 
room  and  the  strangers  following  her, 
found  themselves  in  the  lighted  apart- 
ment, at  the  moment  that  Jeanne  de 
Valois  rose  painfully  from  her  chair  to 
curtsey  very  civilly  to  her  two  visitors. 

Clothilde  drew  forward  the  two  other 
arm-chairs  that  the  ladies  might  have 
their  choice,  and  withdrew  to  the  ante- 
chamber, but  so  slowly,  that  it  could  be 
easily  divined  she  contemplated  posting 
herself  behind  the  door  to  listen  to  the 
conversation  about  to  ensue. 


CHAPTER  III. 

JEANNE    DE    LA    HOTHE    Dli    VALOIS. 

The  first  care  of  Jeanne  de  La  Mothe, 
when  she  could  with  propriety  raise 
her  eyes,  was  to  discover  with  what 
description  of  countenances  she  had  to 
deal. 

The  elder  of  the  two  ladies  might,  as 
we  have  before  said,  be  from  thirty  to 
thirty-two  years  old  ;  her  beauty  was 
altogether  remarkable,  although  an  air 
of  haughtiness  impressed  on  all  her  fea- 


•  A  charitable  society  «o  cill<  d— in  English  it 
would  be  "  Lad  ii  of  good  work  .' 


tures  naturally  detracted  from  the  charm 
her  physiognomy  would  have  otherwise 
possessed.  At  least  so  jndged  Jeanne 
from  the  little  she  couJ^  'erceive  of  the 
countenance  of  *'  .aicer.  For  the 
latter,  prefe»r'  __,  one  of  the  arm  chairs 
to  the  sofajLad  withdrawn  herself  with-  • 
out  the  range  of  light  thrown  by  the 
lamp,  sitting  in  a  corner  of  the  room, 
and  having  pulled  over  her  forehead  the 
wadded  silk  hood  of  her  pelisse,  which, 
in  consequence,  threw  a  shade  over  her 
face. 

But  she  held  her  head  so  proudly, 
her  eye  was  sO  j^ercing  and  so  naturally 
dilated,  that  even  although  all  the  de- 
tails were  imperceptible,  she  would  at 
once  have  been  recognised  as  being  of 
a  good  race,  and  above  all  of  noble  race. 
Her  companion,  less  timid,  at  all 
events  in  appearance,  although  younger 
by  four  or  five  years,  did  not  in  any 
way  attempt  to  conceal  her  real  beauty. 
An  admirable  face  both  as  to  feature 
and  complexion  ;  a  head  dress  which 
left  the  temples  bare,  and  set  off  its 
perfect  oval ;  two  large  blue  eyes  calm 
even  to  serenity ;  a  mouth  of  sweetly 
soft  expression  which  nature  had 
stamped  with  frankness,  but  to  which 
education  and  etiquette  had  added  dis- 
cretion ;  a  nose  which  as  to  form  had 
nothing  to  envy,  even  in  that  of  the 
Venus  de  Medicis  ;  all  this  was  seen  at 
once  by  the  rapid  glance  of  Jeanne. 
Then,  as  it  wandered  over  other  details, 
the  Countess  remarked  in  the  younger 
of  the  two  ladies,  a  shape  more  delicat*» 
and  more  flexible  than  that  of  her  com- 
panion, a  chest  broader  and  of  a  richer 
sweep,  and  finally  a  hand  as  plump  as 
that  of  the  other  lady  was  small  and 
nervous. 

Jeanne  de  Valois  made  all  these 
remarks  in  a  few  seconds,  that  is  to 
say  in  less  time  than  we  have  taken  to 
commit  them  to  paper. 

Then,  these  remarks  being  made,  she 
gently  asked  to  what  happy  circum- 
stance she  owed  the  visit  of  those  ladies. 

The  two  ladies  looked  at  each  other, 
and  on  a  sign  from  the  elder, 

'  Madam,'  said  the  younger,  '  for  you 
are  married  I  believe  ?' 

•I  have  the  honor  to  be  the  wife  of 
the  Count  de  La  Mothe,  madam,  an 
excellent  gentleman.' 

•Well  then,  we,  Countess,  are  the 
superiors  of  an  institution  of  Good 
Works.  We  have  been  told  things,  re- 
garding your  situation,  which  have  ex- 
cited our  interest,  and  in  consequence 
we  wish  to  have  some  precise  details 


MYSTERIES  OF  THE  COURT  OF  LOUIS  XVI. 


31 


with  respect  to  you  and  your  position.' 

Jeanne  paused  a  moment  before  mak- 
ing a  reply. 

4  Ladies,'  she  said,  remarking  the  re- 
serve of  the  second  visitor,  'you  see 
there  the  portrait  of  Henry  III,  that  is 
to  say,  of  the  brother  of  my  ancestor ; 
for  I  am  really  of  the  blood  of  the  Va- 
lois,  as  undoubtedly  you  have  been  told.' 

And  she  awaited  another  question, 
looking  at  her  visitors  with  a  sort  of 
proud  humility. 

'  Madam,'  said  the  elder  of  the  two 
in  a  grave,  soft  voice,  '  is  it  true  that 
your  mother  was,  as  we  h**e  have  been 
told,  house-keeper  of  a  mansion  called 
Fontette,  situated  near  Bar-sur-Seine  ?' 

Jeanne  blushed  at  this  reminiscence 
but  immediately  replied,  without  em- 
barrassment, 

4  It  is  the  truth,  madam  ;  my  moth- 
er was  house-keeper  at  Fontette.' 

4  Ah  !'  exclaimed  the  questioner. 

'  And  as  Marie  Jossel,  my  mother 
possessed  rare  beauty,  my  father  be- 
came enamored  of  her  and  married  her. 
It  is  by  my  father  that  I  am  of  noble 
race  madam ;  my  father  was  a  Saint 
Remy  de  Valois,  a  direct  descendant  of 
the  Valois  who  reigned  in  France.' 

4  But  how  have  you  fallen  to  this  de- 
gree of  misery,  madam  ?' 

'  Alas  !  'tis  very  easy  to  be  under- 
stood.' 

4 1  am  listening.' 

4  You  are  well  aware  that  after  the 
accession  of  Henry  IV  with  whom  the 
crown  passed  from  the  house  of  Valois 
to  that  of  Bourbon,  the  dispossessed 
family  had  still  some  scions  left ;  doubt- 
less they  were  obscure  but  incontesta- 
bly  proceeding  from  the  same  parent 
stock  as  the  four  brothers,  who  all  four 
perished  so  fatally.' 

The  two  ladies  made  a  -sign  which 
might  be  considered  as  an  assent. 

4  Therefore,'  continued  Jeanne, 
4  these  scions  of  the  house  of  Valois, 
fearing  to  give  umbrage,  despite  their 
obscurity  to  the  new  royal  family, 
changed  their  names  of  Valois  to  that 
of  Remy,  adopted  from  an  estate  be- 
longing to  them,  and  they  are  found  in 
the  genealogy  from  the  time  of  Louis 
XIII  under  that  name,  until  that  of  my 
grandfather,  the  last  male  descendant 
but  one  of  that  house,  who  seeing  the 
monarchy  firmly  established  and  the 
old  branch  forgotten,  did  not  think  it 
necessary  any  longer  to  deprive  himself 
of  an  illustrious  name,  his  only  appanage. 

He  therefore  resumed  the  name  of 
Valois,  and  notwithstanding  the  poverty 


by  which  he  obscured  it,  he  was  gener- 
ally called  by  it  in  his  remote  province, 
while  no  one  at  the  Court  of  France 
dreamed  that  beyond  the  protecting 
j  rays  of  the  throne,  there  vegitated  a 
descendant  of  the  former  Kings  of 
France,  who  if  not  the  most  glorious  of 
the  monarchy,  were  at  all  events  the 
most  unfortunate.' 

Jeanne  paused  after  uttering  these 
words.  She  had  spoken  unaffectedly 
and  with  a  moderation  which  had  been 
observed. 

4  Doubtless,  you  have  your  proofs  in 
perfect  order?'  said  the  older  of  the 
two  visitors,  with  much  suavity  but  fix- 
ing a  penetrating  look  on  the  person 
who  called  herself  a  descendant  of  the 
Valois. 

4  Oh  !  madam,'  replied  the  latter  with 
a  bitter  smile,  4  it  is  not  in  proofs  that  I 
am  deficient.  '  My  father  had  them  all 
drawn  up  and  dying  bequeathed  them 
to  me,  not  having  any  other  inheritance 
to  leave  me  ;  but  of  what  service  can  be 
the  proofs  of  a  useless  fact,  or  of  a  fact 
which  no  one  will  recognize?' 

4  Is  your  father  dead  ?'  asked  the 
younger  of  the  two  ladies. 

4  Alas !  yes.' 

4  Did  he  die  in  the  country  ?' 

4  No,  madam.' 

'  At  Paris,  then?' 

'Yes.; 

4 In  this  apartment?' 

4  No,  madam,  my  father  a  Baron  de 
Valois,  grand  nephew  of  Henry  III, 
died  of  misery  and  hunger.' 

4  Impossible  !'  exclaimed  both  the  la- 
dies at  the  same  moment. 

4And  not  here,'  continued  Jeanne, 
4  not  in  this  poor  retreat,  not  on  his 
own  bed,  even  were  that  bed  a  miser- 
able pallet !  No,  my  father  died  side 
by  side  with  the  most  wretched  and  the 
lowest.  My  father  died  at  the  Hos- 
pital, the  Hotel  Dieu  at  Paris.' 

The  two  ladies  uttered  a  cry  of  sur- 
prise which  sounded  like  a  shriek  of 
terror. 

Jeanne,  well  satisfied  with  the  effect 
she  had  produced,  and  the  art  she  had 
employed  in  rounding  the  period  and 
winding  up  the'climax,  Jeanne  remain- 
ed motionless,  her  eyes  cast  down,  her 
hands  listlessly  pendant. 

The  elder  of  the  two  ladies  observed 
her  with  attention  and  intelligence,  and 
not  .seeing  anything  in  her  grief,  which 
was  at  once  so  simple  and  so  natural, 
that  was  either  affected  or  vulgar,  she 
again  addressed  her. 

4  From  what  you  have  told    me.  ma- 


32 


THE  QUEEN'S  NECKLACE;  OR,  THE 


darn,  you  have  experienced  painful 
trials,  and  above  all,  the  death  of  your 
father — ' 

'  Oh  !  were  1  to  state  to  you,  madam, 
the  history  of  my  life,  you  would  not 
eay  that  the  death  of  my  father  was  my 
greatest  misfortune.' 

1  How,  madam,  you  consider  as  a 
Blight  misfortune  the  death  of  a  father?' 
exclaimed  the  lady,  frowning  austerely. 

4  Yes,  madam,  and  in  so  saying  I 
speak  as  a  pious  daughter.  For  my 
father,  when  he  died,  was  at  once  freed 
from  all  those  evils  which  beset  him 
upon  earth,  and  which  continue  to  over- 
whelm his  unhappy  family.  I  there- 
fore feel,  amid  the  grief  which  his  loss 
has  caused,  a  certain  degree  of  joy 
when  thinking  that  my  father  is  dead, 
and  that  the  descendant  of  kings  id  no 
longer  reduced  to  beg  his  bread.' 

•  Beg  his  bread  !' 

4  Oh !  I  acknowledge  it  without 
shame,  for  in  our  misfortune,  my  father 
was  in  no  way  to  blame,  nor  myself 
neither.' 

1  But  your  mother — ' 

4  Well  then,  with  the  same  frankness 
with  which  I  just  now  told  you  that 
I  thanked  (God  for  having  taken  my  la- 
ther to  himself,  I  complain  to  God  that 
he  has  allowed  my  mother  still  to  exist.1 

The  two  ladies  looked  at  each  other, 
almost  shuddering  at  hearing  these 
strange  words. 

*  Would  it  be  indiscreet,    madam,  to 
ask  you  to  give  us  a  more  detailed  re- 
citiil  of   your    misfortunes,'    said    the 
elder. 

4  The  indiscretion  would  be  on  my 
part,  madam,  for  I  should  fatigue  your 
ears  by  the  recital  of  griefs,  which 
cannot  be  otherwise  than  indifferent  to 
you.' 

'  I  am  listening,  madam,'  majestic- 
ally- replied  the  elder  of  the  two  ladies, 
to  whom'  her  companion  immediately 
directed  a  glance  as  a  warning  to  be 
more  upon  her  guard. 

And  indeed,  Madam  de  La  Mothe 
hud  herself  been  somewhat  struck  by 
tin-  imperious  accent  of  the  voice,  and 
she  gaxed  at  the  lady  with  astonish- 
ment. 

4 1  am  listening,  then,'  rejoined  the 
lady,  in  u  softer  tone,  4if  you  will  do 
me  the  favor  to  speak.' 

And  yielding  to  an  uncomfortable 
feeling  produced  doubtless  by  cold,  the 
lady  who  had  spoken  shuddered  and 
beat  her  feet  which  were  getting  be- 
numbed from  the  contact  of  the  dump 
tiled  Moor. 


The  younger  then  pushed  towards 
her  a  small  foot  carpet  which  was  near 
her  chair,  an  attention  which  her  com- 
panion in  her  turn  blamed  by  an  ex- 
pressive look. 

1  Keep  that  carpet  for  yourself,  my 
sister,  for  you  are  more  delicate  than 
lam.' 

1  Pardon  me,  madam,'  said  the  Coun- 
tess de  La  Mothe,  4 1  feel  much  regret 
that  you  should  be  suffering  from  cold  ; 
but  wood  has  risen  in  price,  six  francs 
more,  which  makes  it  now  seventy 
livres  the  cord,  and  my  stock  has  been 
exhausted  for  eight  days.' 

1  You  were  saying,  madam,'  re- 
joined the  elder  of  the  two  visitors, 
4  that  you  were  unhappy  in  having  a 
mother.' 

'Yes,  I   can  well  comprehend  that 
such  an  apparent  blasphemy  requires 
to  be  explained,  is  it  not  s6,  madam  ?' 
said  Jeanne.     4  The  following  then  is 
the  explanation  since  you  desire  it.' 
The  lady  nodded  affirmatively. 
'  I  have  already  had  the  honor  to  in- 
form you,  madam,   that  my  father  had 
unfortunately    married    beneath    him- 
self 

'Yes,  by  marrying  his  housekeeper.' 
1  Well,  then  !  my  mother,  Marie 
Tossel,'  instead  of  being  proud  and 
grateful  for  the  honor  she  had  received, 
began  by  ruining  my  father  which 
indeed,  was  not  a  very  difficult  matter. 
To.  satisfy  her  caprice,  she  expended 
all  the  little  property  of  her  husband. 
Then  having  reduced  him  to  sell  the 
last  piece  of  ground  he  possessed,  she 
persuaded  him  that  he  should  go  to 
•Paris  and  assert  the  rights  which  ap- 
pertained to  his  name.  My  father  was 
easily  seduced,  and  perhaps  he  had 
some  hope  in  the  justice  of  the  king. 
He  therefore  came  on  to  Paris  having 
converted  into  money  the  little  he  pos- 
sessed.' 

4  Besides  myself,  my  father  had  a  son 
arid  daughter.  The  son,  as  unfortunate 
as  myself  vegetates  in  the  lowest  riirtks 
of  the  army;  the  daughter,  my  poor 
sister,  was  abandoned  the  evening  be- 
fore our  departure  for  Paris,  being  left 
at  the  door  of  a  farmer  who  was  her 
godfather.' 

4  This  journey  exhausted  the  litile 
money  we  had  left.  My  father  wore 
himself  out  in  making  useless  and  un- 
fruitful solicitations.  It  was  seldom 
that  we  saw  him  at  homo  ;  when  he  did 
come  he  found  there  the  same  abject 
misery  in  which  he  had  left  us.  During 
his  absence  my  mother,  who  must  ol 


MASTERIES  OF  THE  TOURT  OK  LOUIS  XVI. 


ways  have  some  victim,  would  vent  her   I  had  but  one  fear,  that  of  being  beat- 
malice  upon    me.      She  began   by    re-   en.' 

preaching   me  with  the   quantity  I  ate.  |      '  And  what  came  of  all  this  ?' 
I  at  last  preferred  eating  only  bread,  or  j      '  Good  Heaven  !  madam,   that  which 
eating  nothing  rather  than  seat  myself  my    mother   expected.      I    sometimes 
at  our   poor  board.     But  pretexts   for  brought  a  little  money  home,    and  the 
chastising  me  were  not  wanting ;  at  the  frightful  perspective  of  nn  hospital  con 
least  fault,  which  other  mothers  would   stantly  before  my  father's  eyes,  was  ex 

t"in  irn  i  i_-li  r*r  1    4*r»i»    u     -f ti  tir    r\  n  vra    * 


have  merely'  smiled  at,  my  mother  beat 
me  ;  some  neighbors  thinking  to  do  me 
service,  informed  my  father  of  the  ill 
treatment  to  which  I  was  constantly  ex- 
posed. My  father  endeavored  to  de- 
fend me  against  my  mother,  but  he  did 
not  perceive  that  by  his  protection  he 
changed  the  enemy  of  the  moment  into 
a  perpetual  fuiy.  Alas  !  I  could  not  for 
iny  own  interest  advise  him  to  the  con- 
trary, I  was  too  young,  too  much  a 
child.  I  could  not  myself  comprehend 
it.  I  felt  the  effects  without  endeavor- 
ing to  seek  out  the  cause.  I  felt  the 
pain  and  that  was  all.  My  father  fell 
sick ;  at  first  he  was  confined  to  his  room 
and  then  to  his  bed.  Then  I  was  for- 
bidden to  enter  my  father's  room  under 
the  pretence  that  my  being  there 
fatigued  him,  and  that  I  could  not  re- 


strain that  propensity  to  motion  so  natur-  !  two  ladies. 


tiuguished  for  a  few  days.' 

The  features  of  the  elder  of  the  two 
ladies  became  contracted ;  tears  rose 
in  the  eyes  of  the  younger. 

'  At  length,  madam,  notwithstanding 
the  relief  which  this  brought  to  my  fa- 
ther, this  hateful  trade  became  utterly 
revolting  to  my  feelings.  One  day  in- 
stead of  running  after  the,  passers-by 
and  annoying  them  with  my  accustom- 
ed phrase,  I  seated  myself  beside  a  post, 
where  I  remnined  a  portion  of  the  day 
as  if  annihilated.  In  the  evening  I  re- 
turned home  with  empty  hands.  My 
mother  beat  me  so  severely  that  the 
next  day  I  fell  ill.  It  was  then  that  my 
father,  being  deprived  of  every  resource, 
was  carried  to  the  Hotel  Dieu  where 
he  died.' 

Oh  !  horrible  story  !'  murmured  the 


al  to  youth.  When  out  of  his  room  I 
was  altogether  under  the  dominion  of  my 
mother.  She  taught  me  a  sentence, 
which  she  impressed  upon  me  by  blows 
and  bruises ;  then  when  I  could  901-- 
rectly  repeat  that  humiliating  phrase 
which  instinctively  I  did  not  wish  to 
learn,  when  my  eyes  were  red  with 
tears,  she  made  me  go  down  to  the 
street  door,  and  would  make  me  hasten 
after  each  respectable  looking  passer- 
oy  and  repeat  the  phrase  to  him,  threat- 
ening if  I  did  not,  that  she  would  beat 
me  to  death/ 

•  Oh  !  frightful !  frightful !'  murmur- 
ed the  younger  of  the  two  ladies.     . 

•  And  what  was  that  phrase  ?'  inquir- 
ed the  elder. 

'It  was  as  follows,'  replied  Jeanne — 
•  Take  pity,  sir,  on  a  poor  orphan,  the 
lineal  descendant  of  Henry  de  Valois.' 

'Oh!  fie!  fie!'  cried  the  elder  with 
a  gesture  of  disgust. 

1  And  what  effect  did  this  phrase  pro- 
duce on  the  persons  to  whom  it  was  ad- 


'But  then  when  your  father  died» 
what  became  of  you  ?'  asked  the  young- 
er of  the  two  visitors. 

'God  took  compassion  upon  me.  One 
month  after  the  death  of  my  father,  my 
mother  went  off  with  a  soldier,  her 
lover,  thus  abandoning  my  brother  and 
myself.' 

'  Poor  orphans  !' 

"Oh  .'madam,  on  the  contrary,  we 
were  indeed  orphans  only  while  we 
had  a  mother.  Public  charity  adopted 
us ;  but,  as  begging  was  repugnant  to 
us,  we  only  begged  that  which  was  ab- 
solutely necessary  for  our  support. 
God  comrmtnds  his  creatures  to  pre- 
serve their  lives.' 


Alas  ." 

What  was   it    I  was  saying  / 


Oh.' 


one  day  I  was  fortunate  enough  to  meet 
a  carnage  which  was  going  slowly  up 
the  Faubourg  Saint  Marcel ;  four  ser- 
vants were  standing  behind  it ;  inside 
of  it  was  a  lady  who  was  still  youog 
and  beautiful.  I  held  out  my  hand  to 


dressed  ?' asked  the  younger.  tier:    she  questioned   me:  iny  answer 

Some  of  them  listened  to  me  with  und  my  nnme  struck  her  with  surprise, 
pity,' said  Jeanne,  '  others  were  angry  |  and  then  with  incredulity.  The  next 
and  threatened  me ;  others,  more  com'- ;  day  she  ascertained  that  I  had  not 
passionate  than  the  first,  warned  me  i  spoken  falsely  ;  she  adopted  us — my 
that  I  incurred  great  danger  by  utter- 1  brother  and  myself— placed  my  brother 
ing  such  words,  which  might'  fall  on  !  in  a  regiment,  and  obtained  a  situation 
prejudiced  ears.  But  I  knew  only  one  for  me  with  a  seamstress.  We  were 
danger,  that  of  disobeying  my  mother.  •  both  savnd  from  the daugerof  starvation.' 


THE  QUEEN'S  NECKLACE ;  OR,  THE 


'  Wna  not  that  lady  Madam  de  Bou- 
lainvilliers  ?' 

*  Herself.' 

1  She  is,  I  believe,  dead.' 

*  Yes,  and  her  death  again  plunged 
me  into  an  abyss.' 

'  But  her  husband  is  still  alive,  and 
he  is  rich.' 

'Her  husband  !  madam  ;  it  is  to  him 
that  I  owe  all  the  misfortunes  of  my 
youthful  life,  as  it  was  to  my  mother 
that  I  owed  all  the  miseries  of  my 
childhood.  1  had  grown,  and  had  per- 
haps become  good-looking ;  he  per- 
ceived this,  he  wished  to  fix  a  price 
upon  his  benevolence,  which  I  refused. 
It  was  just  nt  this  time  that  Madame  de 
Boulainvilliers  died  ;  and  I — I,  whom 
she  had  married  to  a  brave  and  loyal 
soldier,  M.  de  La  Mothe — I  found  my- 
self, separated  as  I  then  was  from  my 
husband,  he  being  with  the  army — I 
found  myself  more  desolate  after  her 
death  than  I  had  been  even  at  my  fath- 
er's death.  This  is  my  story,  madam, 
which  I  have  abbreviated.  Sufferings 
are  always  tedious,  and  the  recital  of 
them  should  be  spai'ed  to  those  who 
are  blessed  with  the  smiles  of  fortune, 
were  they  even  as  benevolent  as  you, 
ladies,  appear  to  be.' 

A  long  silence  succeeded  this  last 
period  of  Madame  de  La  Mothe's  his- 
tory. It  was  the  elder  of  the  two  ladies 
who  was  the  first  to  break  it. 

4  And  your  husband — what  is  he  do- 
ing ?'  she  inquired. 

4  My  husband  is  in  garrison  at  Bar- 
»ur-Aube,  madam  ;  he  is  serving  in  the 
Gendarmerie,  and  he  is  also  hoping  for 
better  days.' 

4  But  you  have  pressed  your  claims 
at  Court  ?' 

'Undoubtedly!' 

4  The  name  of  Valois,  backed  by 
proper  proofs,  must  have  awakened 
sympathy !' 

4 1  know  not,  madam,  what  feeling 
my  solicitations  may  have  awakened, 
for  I  have  not  received  a  reply  to  any 
one  of  my  applications.' 

4  And  yet  you  must  have  seen  the 
ministers,  the  King,  the  Queen  ?' 

1  No  one  ;  on  all  sides  have  my  at- 
tempt been  fruitless,'  replied  Madame 
•de  La  Mothe. 

4  You  cannot,  however,  beg.' 

*  No,  I  have  lost  that  habit ;  but' 

4 But  what?' 

4  But  I  may  die  of  hunger,  as  my 
father  did.' 

4  You  have  no  children  ?' 

4  No,   madam  :  and   my   husband,  by 


being  killed  in  the  King's  service,  will 
at  least  find  a  glorious  end  to  all  our 
miseries.' 

4  Can  you,  madam — I  must  regret  in- 
sisting on  this  point — can  you  furnish 
the  required  proofs  of  your  genealogy?' 

Jeanne  rose,  went  to  a  chest  of  draw- 
ers, and  took  from  it  some  papers,  which 
she  presented  to  the  lady.  But,  as  she 
wished  to  take  advantage  of  the%  mo- 
ment when  the  latter  would  approach 
the  lamp  to  examine  them,  and  thus 
obtain  a  good  view  of  her  features,  she 
allowed  this  manoeuvre  of  her's  to  be 
perceived,  by  the  care  she  took  to  raise 
the  wick  of  the  lamp,  in  order  to  give 
more  light. 

Then  the  Sister  of  Charity,  as  if  the 
light  offended  her  eyes,  turned  her 
back  to  the  lamp,  and  consequently  to 
Madame  de  La  Mothe. 

It  was  in  this  position  that  she  read 
attentively  and  examined  every  docu- 
ment, one  after  the  other. 

4  But,'  she  remarked,  '  these  are 
merely  copies,  madam.  I  do  not  see  a 
single  original  document.' 

4  The  minutes,  madam,  are  deposited 
in  a  safe  place,  and  I  can  produce  them.' 

'  If  an  important  occasion  should  pre- 
sent ifself,'  said  the  lady,  smiling. 

4  It  is  doubtless,  madam,  an  impor- 
tant occasion  which  has  procured  me 
the  honor  of  seeing  you  ;  but  the  docu- 
ments in  question  are  so  precious  to  me 
that — ' 

4 1  understand ;  you  cannot  exhibit 
them  to  every  stranger.' 

4  Oh  !'  exclaimed  Jeanne,  who  had  at 
last  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  lovely  und 
dignified  features  of  her  protectress, 
oh  !  madam,  I  cannot,  consider  you  as 
a  stranger.' 

And  on  the  instant  she  rapidly  raised 
the  lid  of  a  secretary,  then  pressing  a 
spring,  opened  a  secret  drawer,  and 
drew  from  it  the  originals  of  the  docu- 
ments and  titles,  carefully  enclosed  in 
an  old  port-folio,  emblazoned  with  the 
armorial  bearings  of  Ihe  house  of  Va- 
lois. 

The  lady  took  them  and  after  having 
with  much  intelligence  and  attention 
examined  them, 

4  You  are  right,  madam,'  stiid  the 
Sister  of  Charity,  4  these  documents 
are  perfectly  in  order  and  I  should  ad- 
vise you  to  produce  and  exhibit  them  to 
the  proper  authorities.' 

4  And  what,  in  your  opinion,  madam, 
should  I  obtain  by  so  doing  ?' 

4  Doubtless,  a  pension  for  yourself 
and  promotion  for  M.  de  La  Mothe, 


MYSTERIES  OF  THE  COURT  OF  LOUIS  XVI. 


provided  that  gentleman  be  of  a  char- 
acter to  further  such  promotion.' 

'  My  husband,  madam,  is  a  model  of 
honorable  conduct,  and  has  never  been 
found  wanting  in  his  duties  as  a  milita- 
ry man." 

'It  is  sufficient,  madam,'  said  the 
Sister  of  Charity,  drawing  her  hood 
closely  over  her  face. 

Madam  de  La  Mothe  anxiously  ob- 
served every  movement  that  she  made. 
She  saw  her  put  her  hand  into  her 
pocket,  from  which  she  first  drew 
the  embroidered  handkerchief  which 
shehad  held  to  her  face  while  driving  a- 
long  the  boulevard,  then  a  small  rouleau 
of  one  inch  in  diameter,  and  about  three 
or  four  inches  in  length. 

The  Sister  of  Charity  placed  the 
rouleau  on  a  chiffonier,  saying, 

'  The  Society  of  Good  Works  author- 
izes me,  madam,  to  offer  you  this  slight 
relief  until  something  further  may  be 
done.' 

Madame  de  La  Mothe  cast  a  rapid 
glance  upon  the  rouleau. 

'  Half  crowns,  of  three  livres  each,' 
she  thought  to  herself,  '  there  may  be 
fifty  or  a  hundred.  Well,  that  is  a 
hundred  and  fifty  or  three  hundred 
livres  which  have  thus  fallen  from  the 
clouds.  For  a  hundred  it  would  seem 
rather  short,  but  for  fifty  it  would  be 
very  long.' 

While  she  was  thus  calculating,  the 
two  ladies  had  gone  into  the  outer 
chamber  where  dame  Clothilde  had 
fallen  asleep  on  a  chair  near  a  candle, 
the  red  and  smoking  wick  of  which 
rose  out  of  a  perfect  sheet  of  liquid  tal- 
low. 

The  acrid  and  nauseating  odor  had 
such  an  effect  on  the  throat  of  the  elder 
of  the  two  ladies,  that  she  suddenly 
plunged  her  hand  into  her  pocket  and 
drew  from  it  a  scent  bottle.  But  on 
•  Jeanne's  calling  to  her,  dame  Clothilde 
had  awakened  ;  seizing  the  remainder 
of  the  candle  with  her  hand,  she  raised 
it  like  a  beacon  light  above  the  gloomy 
stair-case,  notwithstanding  the  protes- 
tations of  the  two  strangers  whom  she 
was  lighting  but  poisoning  at  the  same 
time. 

'  Good  night !  good  night,  Countess,' 
they  both  cried,  and  hurried  down  the 
stair-case. 

'Where  can  I  have  the  honor 
of  thanking  you,  ladies  ?'  inquired 
Jeanne  de  Valois. 

'  We  will  let  you  know,'  replied  the 
elder  of  the  two  ladies,  while  descend- 
.  ing  as  rapidly  as  possible. 


And  the  noise  of  their  steps  was  soon 
lost  in  the  depths  of  the  lower  stories. 

Madame  de  Valois  re-entered  her 
apartment  from  the  landing  place,  im- 
patient to  ascertain  if  her  supposition 
with  regard  to  the  rouleau  was  correct. 
But  as  she  was  crossing  the  ante-cham- 
ber she  struck  her  foot  against  some- 
thing which  rolled  from  the  mat  laid 
near  the  door  to  keep  out  the  wind,  on 
to  the  tiled  floor. 

To  stoop  down,  pick  up  this  article, 
and  run  to  the  lamp  to  examine  it,  was 
the  first  idea  of  the  Countess  de  La 
Mothe. 

It  was  a  round  gold  box,  flat  and 
rather  plainly  ornamented.  This  box 
contained  some  pastilles  of  prepared 
chocolate;  but  although  so  flat  it  was 
evident  that  it  had  a  double  bottom,  the 
secret  spring  of  which  the  Countess 
was  some  time  in  finding. 

At  length  she  found  it  and  pressed 
upon  it. 

Immediately  the  portrait  of  a  woman 
appeared,  of  brilliant  though  masculine 
beauty  and  of  imperious  majesty. 

A  German  head-dress,  a  magnificent 
collar  resembling  that  of  an  order  gave 
to  the  physiognomy  a  strange  appear- 
ance. 

A  cypher  composed  of  an  M  and  a.  T, 
entwined  in  a  circle  of  laurel  was  on 
the  upper  part  of  the  box. 

Madame  de  La  Mothe  supposed  from 
the  resemblance  of  the  portrait  to  the 
face  of  the  young  lady  her  benefactress, 
that  it  was  the  portrait  of  her  mother  or 
grandmother,  and,  we  must  in  justice 
acknowledge  that  her  first  movement 
was  to  run  to  the  head  of  the  stair-case 
and  call  to  the  ladies. 

At  that  moment  she  heard  the  street 
door  close  upon  them. 

She  then,  as  it  was  too  late  to  catch 
them,  ran  to  the  window  to  call  to 
them. 

But  at  the  .end  of  the  Rue  Saint 
Claude  opening  into  the  Rue  Saint 
Louis,  she  saw  a  cabriolet  driving  rapid- 
ly off.  This  was  the  only  object  she 
could  distinguish  in  the  street. 

The  Countess  having  no  longer  any 
hope  of  calling  back  her  two  protectres- 
ses, again  looked  at  the  box,  promising 
herself  that  she  would  send  it  after 
them  to  Versailles;  then  seizing  the 
rouleau  which  had  been  left  ,on  the 
chiffonier,  she  said, 

'  I  was  not  mistaken  ;  there  are  not 
more  than  fifty  half  crowns.' 

And  breaking  the  paper  which  she 
threw  on  the  floor,  she  gazed  with 


« 


TftF   OTVIA-S  NVPKTirp.   OR     THP 
1  nit.   v^UJi.lliJN  o    [N  Jt.l>ltLjAC.n. ;   Uiv,    J  rlJo 


, 
•  meut  at  its  contents,  and  clasping  j      '  Not  at  all,   \\  obi^r,  if    freezes   and 

her  hands  cried,  i  the    Boulfvaids   will    he   covered  with 

•They    are   louis  ;      double    louis. —  j  sheet  ice,  the  streets  will  be  much  bet- 
Fifty  double  louis  !    two   thousand  five  I  ter  on  that  account,  thnnks  to  the  thous- 


huadred  livros  !' 

And  a  most  eager  expression  of  joy 
was  depicted  in  her  eyes,  while  dame 
Clothilde,  astounded  at  the  sight  of 
more  gold  than  she  had  ever  before 
seen,  remained  openmouthed  and  with 
her  hands  clasped  together. 

'  A  hundred  louis  !'  reiterated  Ma- 
dame La  Mothe,  '  these  ladies  mujet  be 
»erv  rich  ?  Oh !  I  will  find  them  again.' 


CHAPTER  IV. 


MADAME  de  La  Mothe  was  not  mis- 
taken in  believing  that  the  cabriolet 
»  she  had  seen  had  driven  oft'  with  the 
*  ladies  of  Charity. 

The  two  ladies  had  in  fact  found  near 
t^e  door  of  Madaine  de  La  Mothe's 
house  a  cabriolet,  such  as  was  construct- 
ed in  these  days,  that  is  to  say,  with 
high  wheels,  light  body,  a  raised  dash- 
ing board,,  and  a  commodious  seat  for  a 
servant  who  rode  behind. 

This  cabriolet,  which  was  drawn  by 
a  magnificent  Irish  horse,  with  docked 
t.ail,  and  fine  lustrous  bay  coat,  had 
b#en  brought  to  the  rue  Saint  Claude, 


the    same   servant  who   had   driveii 
i'e    sledge,    and   whom   the    Lady    01 

»'•'..  ,  ,  1,        •,     *r^r      -  r 


ands  of  pedestrains  who  melt  the  snow. 
Come,  Weber,  be  quick  !' 

Weber  held  the  horse  while  the  la- 
dies sprang  lightly  into  the  cabriolet, 
then  he  jumped  up  behind  and  gave 
notice  that  all  was  ready. 

The  elder  of  the  two  ladies  address- 
ing her  companion,  said  'Well,  An- 
dree what  do  you  think  of  our  Coun- 
tess ?' 

And  at  the  same  moment  she  gave 
the  horse  his  head  who  set  off  at  a  ra- 
pid pace  quickly  turning  the  corner  of 
the  Rue  Saint  Louis. 

It  was  just  at  that  moment  that  Madame 
de  La  Mothe  opened  her  window  to 
call  after  the  two  Sisters  of  Chiivity. 

'  I  think,  madam,'  replied  the  lady 
who  had  been  called  Andree,  'I  think 
that  Madame  de  La  Mothe  is  poor  and 
very  unhappy.' 

'  And  well  brought  up,  is  she  not  ?' 

'Yes,  undoubtedly.' 

'  You  are  cold  with  regard  to  her, 
Andree.' 

'  If  I  must  acknowledge  it,  T  think 
there  is  an  expression  of  cunning  in 
her  countenance  which  does  not  please 
me.' 

'  Oh !  I  know  that  you  are  distrust- 
ful, Andree,  and  that  in  order  to  please 
you,  a  person  must  possess  every  good 
quality.  For  my  own  part,  I  thiuk  that 
liule  Countess  very  interesting,  and  that 


^Knty  had  culled  Weber,   as  we  have  j  there  is  an  much  simplicity  in  her  pride 
before  stated.  us  in  her  humility.' 

Weber   held   the   horse    by    ihe    bit  L' '-   •-— —  ' ' 


Tfh,en  the    ladies   arrived ;  he  was    tu- 
n-ing  to  restrain   the    impetuosity 


It  is   a    fortune  to  her  to  have  had 

the  happiness  of  pleasing  your ' 

Take  care !'   cried  the  elder  kdy, 


of  the  noble  animal  who  was  with  one  !  loudly,  at  the   same  time  sharply  rein- 
foot  puwing   the  snow  which  had    be-  '  ing  her  horse  to  one  side,  to  pr<  • 
come   harder  by   degrees   since   night- '  n  — " *•  *' " 

en  the  two  ladies  made  their  ap- 
pearance 

'  Muttam,'  said  Weber,  •  I  hut  inden- 
ted to  pring  Scibio,  vor  ho  is  fery  mild 
and  easy  do  trive,  but  Seilrio  hurt  won 
of  his  legs  laeht  night,  and  Twos  opliged 
to  pring  Pelus  who  is  rader  vrisky.' 

4  Oh  !  nd  to  that,  Weber,  you  know 
thai  it  is  of  no  consequence,  for  I  have 
a  steady  hand  and  am  well  used  to 
driving,'  said  the  elder  of  the  two  ladies. 
-  .ow  dat  mattam  droives  ferry 
roll  bu  ti«  roats  is  ferry  pad.  Vere  is 
w  in;  :  •..£  '.' 

'  To  V 

•By  .Is.leu?' 


aid  running  over  a  porter  at  the  corner 
ot  tin-  Hue  Saint  Antoine. 

•  Duke  gare  !'  cried  Weber  in  a  sten- 
torian voice. 

And  the  cabriolet  continued  its  rapid 
course,  but  the  imprecations  of  t » 
who  hud  just  escaped  the  wheel,   were 
loud  and  menacing;  and  several  others 
having  joined  in  chorus,  a  clamor  of  a 
most  hostile  nature  was  raised  6 
the  cabriolet. 

But  in  a  very  few  moments,  Belus 
placed  between  his  mistress  and  those 
blasphemers  the  whole  distance  be- 
tween the  Place  Saint  Catherine  and 
the  Place  Baudoyer. 

Them,  us  is  well  known,  the  streets 
fork,  Kiid  the  skillful  driver  resolutely 


MYSTERIES  OF  THE  CO  WIT  OF  LOUIS  XVI. 


.turned  her  horse  into  the  Rue  de  la 
Tixeranderie,  a  very  narrow  and 
crowded  street,  and  by  no  means  aris- 
tocratic. 

Therefore,  notwithstanding  her  re- 
peated shouts  of  'take  care  !' — notwith- 
standing the  loud  bawlings  of  Weber, 
the  passers-by  were  furious  in  their 
exclamations. 

'  Oh  !  the  cabriolet — down  with  the 
cabriolet ." 

Belus  kept  on  his  way,  and  his  driver, 
notwithstanding  that  her  hand  was  de- 
licate as  that  of  a  child,  urged  him  on 
rapidly  and  above  all  skilfully,  through 
the  pools  of  liquid  snow,  or  over  the 
still  more  dangerous  heaps  of  unraelted 
ice  and  the  ruts  and  rivulets  formed 
through  them. 

Yet,,  contrary  to  all  expectation,  no 
disaster  had  occurred  ;  a  brilliant  lamp 
suspended  to  •  the  cabriolet,  cast  its 
sparkling  rays  before  it,  and  this  was 
an  excess  of  precaution  which  the  police 
had  not  yet,  in  those  days,  obliged  the 
cabriolets  to  adopt. 

We  said  that  no  misfortune  had  oc- 
curred ;  not  a  single  carriage  had  been 
touched,  not  a  post  grazed,  not  a  sin- 
gle pedestrian  injured.  It  was  really  a 
miracle,  and  yet  cries  and  threats  were 
constantly  vociferated. 

The  cabriolet  passed  with  the  same 
rapidity  and  the  same  good  fortune 
through  the  Rue  de  Mederce,  Rut>  St. 
Martin,  Rue  Aubry  le  Boucher. 

Perhaps  our  readers  would  imagine 
that  on  approaching  the  more  civilized 
sections  of  the  city,  the  hatred  shown 
towards  the  aristocratic  equipage  would 
become  less  savage  ;  but  quite  the  con- 
trary ;  scarcely  had  Belus  entered  the 
Rue  de  la  Ferronnerie,  when  Weber, 
still  hooted  by  the  populace,  remarked 
that  groups  of  persons  formed  them- 
selves to  obstruct  the  progress  of  the 
cabriolet;  several  of  them  even  began 
'running  after  it  to  stop  it. 

But  Weber  did  not  wish  to  make  his 
mistress  uneasy.  He  remarked  the 
coolness  and  great  skill  which  she 
evinced;  how  adroitly  she  managed  to 
glide  in  between  those  obstacles,  whe- 
ther inert  or  living,  which  form  at  once 
the  de.spitir  or  the  triumph  of  the  Paris 
driver. 

\s  10  Belus,  whose  limbs  were  firm 
a.-  t-teei,  he  had  not  slipped  even  once, 
so  careful  was  the  hand  that  guided 
him,  in  aiding  him  whether  in  a  descant 
or  over  uneven  ground. 

The  people  no  longer  murmured 
round  the  cabriolet,  they  vociferated  : 


the  lady  who  held  the  reins  perceived 
it,  and  attributing  this  hostility  to  soraa 
trivial  cause,  such  as  the  severity  of  the 
weather  and  the  general  discontent,  she 
resolved  on  shortening  the  trial  as  much 
as  possible. 

She  therefore  cracked  her  whip,  and 
Belus  changed  his  pace  from  a  middling 
trot  to  a  most  rapid  one. 

The  shops  seemed  to  fly  by  them, — 
the  pedestrians  rushed  towards  the 
houses.  The  lady's  cries  of  '  take  care ! 
take  care !'  were  reiterated. 

The  cabriolet  had  almost  reached 
the  Palais  Royal,  and  had  just  passed 
the  end  of  the  Rue  du  Coq  Saint  tlon- 
ore,  before  which  one  of  the  most  ele- 
vated of  the  snow  obelisks  still  raised 
its  diminished  head. 

This  obelisk  was  surmounted  by  an 
enormous  ornament  of  various  colore'd 
ribbands,  somewhat  faded  it  is  true- 
ribbands  which  sustained  a  placard  on 
Which  the  penman  of  the  quarter  had 
written,  in  letters  of  immense  size,  a 
verse  of  four  lines,  highly  compliment- 
ary to  the  Queen,  and  which  at  nigfct 
was  illuminated  by  a  lantern  on  each 
side. 

It  was  there  that  Belus  encountered 
the  first  serious  obstacle ;  the  monu- 
ment which  they  were  justjighting  up, 
ha,d  attracted  a  numerous  crowd  of 
spectators;  they  were  all  in  a  mass, 
and  it  was  impossible  to  traverse'  this 
mass  at  a  trot. 

It  was  therefore  necefcdary  to  put 
Belus  into  a  walk. 

But  they  had  seen  Belus  advancing 
with  the  celerity  of  lightning,  and  had 
heard  the  cries  by  which  he  was  pur- 
sued. And  although  on  the  appearance 
of  this  obstacle  he  had'  stopped  short, 
the  sight  of  the  cabriolet  appeared  to 
produce  the  worst  species  of  effect 
upon  the  crowd.  The  crowd,  howerer, 
opened. 

But  beyond  the  obelisk  there  was 
another  motive  for  a  c;  jwd. 

The  gates  of  the  Palais  Royal  were 
open  and  in  the  court-yard  immense 
braziers  had  been  plaCed.  at  \\bioh  a 
whole  army  of  beggars  were  warming 
themselves,  and  to  whom  ;he  servants 
of  the  Duki-.  of  Orleans  were  nistribut- 
|i  in  I'lirtherT;  howl?. 

But  the  people  who  wore  eating  and 
warming  themselves,  numerous  us  they 
wore,  were  less  .so  than  those  who 
were  gazing  at  them.  At  Paris  the 
custom  is  wherever  there  is  any  thing 
doing,  a  crowd  immediately  .assembles 
to  look  on. 


38 


THE  QUEEN'S  NECKLACE ;  OR,  THE 


The  cabriolet  after  having  surmount- 
ed the  first  obstacle  was  obliged  to  stop 
on  reaching  the  second,  as'does  a  ship 
in  the  midst  of  breakers. 

At  the  moment  the  cries  which  had 
before  reached  the  ears  of  the  two  la- 
dies but  vaguely  and  confusedly,  be- 
came loud  and  distinct  in  the  centre  of 
the  throng.  The  people  cried 

»  Down  with  the  cabriolet !  down  with 
the  women  who  crush  the  people  !' 

1  Can  it  be  to  us  that  these  cries  are 
addressed  ?'  said  the  lady  who  was 
driving,  to  her  companion. 

'  In  good  truth,  madam,'  replied  the 
latter,  '  I  fear  soi' 

« Did  we  run  over  any  one  ?' 

'  Certainly  not.' 

'  Down  with  the  cabriolet !  down 
with  the  murderers  ."  furiously  howled 
the  mob. 

The  storm  was  approaching,  the 
horse  had  already  been  seized  by  the 
bridle,  and  Belus  who  appeared  not  to 
relish  the  contact  of  those  rude  hands, 
pawed  the  ground  and  foamed  furiously. 

'  To  the  Commissary  of  police  !  To 
the  Commissary  of  police  !'  cried  a 
voice. 

The  two  ladies  gazed  at  each  other 
petrified  with  asto'nishment. 

A  thousand  voices  repeated, 

'Take  them  to  the  Commissary.  Take 
them  to  the  Commissary.' 

Some  inquisitive  faces  poked  them- 
selves under  the  head  of  the  cabriolet. 

New  commentaries  were  made 
among  the  crowd. 

'  They  are  women  !'  said  a  voice. 

'  Yes,  some  of  Soubise's  dolls  ;  some 
of  d'Hennin's  mistresses.' 

1  Opera  girls  who  think  they  have  a 
right  to  ride  over  people  because  they 
have  ten  thousand  livres  a  month  to  pay 
hospital  expenses.' 

A  furious  '  hurrah !'  welcomed  this 
last  observation. 

The  two  ladies  evinced  their  feelings 
in  H  very  different  manner ;  the  one 
drew  back  into  th$  corner  of  the  cabri- 
olet, pule  and  trembling.  The  other  bent 
resolutely  forward,  with  brows  knit  and 
lips  compressed. 

'  Oh  !  madam,'  cried  the  other,  draw- 
ing her  back,  '  what  are  you  doing  ?' 

1  To  the  Commissary's  !  to  the  Com- 
missary's!' again  shouted  the  infuriated 
mob  ;  '  let  us  know  who  they  are.' 
•  '  Ah !  madam,  we  are  lost,'  cried  the 
youngest,  whispering  into  the  ear  of 
her  companion. 

4  Courage  !  Andree,  courage  !'  ex- 
claimed the  other. 


'  But  you  will  be'seen — be  recogniz- 
ed, perhaps.' 

'  Just  look  through  the  glass  behind 
you  and  see  if  Weber  be  still  there  ?' 

'  He  is  endeavoring  to  get  down ;  but 
he  is  beset  on  all  sides.  Ah  !  now  he  is 
coming.' 

'Weber!  Weber!'  said  the  lady  in 
German,  '  let  us  out.'  / 

The  servant  obeyed,  and,  thanks  to 
two  shoves  of  his  brawny  shoulders, 
which  threw  aside  the  assailants,  he 
raised  the  apron  of  the  cabriolet. 

The  two  ladies  sprang  lightly  to  the 
ground.  During  this  time  the  mob 
were  occupied  with  the  horse  and  tho 
cabriolet,  the  body  of  which  they  were 
beginning  to  smash  in. 

'  But  what  does  all  this  mean,  in  the 
name  of  Heaven !'  continued  the  elder 
of  the  two  ladies  ;  'can, you  understand 
it,  Weber?' 

'  Not  I,  upon  my  word,  madam,'  re- 
plied Weber,  much  more  at  ease  in 
speaking  his  native  language,  than  in 
French  ;  and  he  continued  kicking  right 
and  left  to  clear  a  passage  for  his  mis- 
tress. 

'  Why,  they  are  not  men,  but  wild 
beasts,'  continued  the  lady  still  in  Ger- 
man. '  What  do  they  reproach  me  for  ? 
Let  me  know.' 

At  the  same  moment  a  gentle  and 
polite  voice  which  contrasted  singularly 
with  the  threats  and  the  revilings  of 
which  the  two  ladies  were  the  subject, 
replied  in  the  purest  Saxon  : 

'  They  reproach  you,  madam,  with 
having  set  at  defiance  an  ordinance  of 
the  police,  published  in  Paris  this  very 
morning,  and  which  prohibits  until  next 
spring,  the  use  of  cabriolets,  dangerous 
even  when  the  pavement  is  in  a  good 
state,  but  which  is  mortal  to  the  pedes- 
trian when  the  snow  and  ice  prevent , 
him  from  avoiding  the  wheels.' 

The  lady  turned  round  to  ascer- 
tain whence  proceeded  this  courteous 
voice  urnid  the  hundreds  of  threatning 
ones. 

She  then  perceived  a  young  officer 
who  in  order  to  approach  her  must  un- 
doubtedly have  battled  as  valiantly  as 
Weber  had  done  to  maintain  his  po- 
sition near  her. 

The  graceful  and  distinguished  coun- 
tenance, th,e  elegant  figure  and  elevated 
stature  and  the  martial  air  of  the  young 
man,  pleased  the  lady,  who  hastened 
to  reply  in  German. 

'  Oh  !  good  heaven,  sir  !  I  knew  no- 
thing of  that  ordinance,  I  was  complete- 
ly ignorant  of  it.' 


MYSTERIES  OF  THE  COURT  OF  LOUIS  XVI. 


39 


'  You  are  a  foreigner,  madam  ?'  said 
the  young  officer  interrogatively. 

«  Yes,  sir  ;  but  tell  me  what  I  am  to 
do,  they  are  demolishing  my  cabriolet.' 

'  You  must  let  them  destroy  it,  ma- 
dam, and  you  must  slip  away  while 
they  are  so  occupied.  The  people  of 
Paris  are  furious  against  the  rich  who 
display  their  luxury  in  the  very  faces 
of  the  general  misery.  And^  in  pur- 
suance of  the  ordinance  published  this 
morning  you  will  be  taken  before  a  Com- 


missary of  police.' 
'  Oh  !  never,    never  !' 


exclaimed  the 


v  youngest  of  the  two  ladies. 

'  Then,'  said  the  young  officer,  laugh- 
ing, '  take  advantage  of  the  opening  I 
am  about  to  make  ID  the  crowd,  and 
vanish  as  quickly  as  possible.' 

These  words  were  pronounced  in  so 
light  a  tone,  that  the  two  ladies  at  once 
perceived  that  the  officer  had  heard 
the  commentaries  of  the  populace  on 
the  kept  mistresses  of  Messieurs  de 
Soubise  and  d  'Hennin. 

But  this  was  not  a  moment  in  whic  h 
to  be  punctilious. 

4  Give  us  your  arm,  then,  till  we  can 
procure  a  hackney-coach,'  said  the  el- 
der of  the  two  ladies  in  a  voice  of  au- 
thority. 

1 1  was  about  to  make  your  horse 
rear,'  replied  the  officer,  '  and  in  the 
confusion  which  this  would  have  oc- 
casioned, you  could  have  escaped,  for,' 
continued  the  young  man  who  perhaps 
would  have  wished  to  decline  the  re- 
sponsibility of  a  dangerous  protection, 
4  the  people  are  getting  tired  of  hearing 
us  speak  in  a  language  which  they  do 


not  understand. 

'  Weber,'    cried   the   lady 
tone,  '  make  Belus  rear,  that  this  crowd 


may  be  terrified  and  make  an  opening 
for  us.' 

'  And  then,  madam  ?' 

4  And  then  remain  here  till  we  get 
away  ?' 

'  And  if  they  break  the  body  of  the 


carriage  ?' 

4  Let  them  break  the 


carriage,  what 


matters  that  to  you  ?  Save  Belus,  if 
you  can,  and  above  all  yourself— that  is 
the  only  thing  I  recommend  to  you.' 

'"Pis  well,  madam.' 

And  at  the  same  moment  he  tickled 
the  irritable  Irish  horse  in  such  a  man- 
lier, that  he  sprang  into  the  midst  of 
the  crowd,  and  overturned  the  most 
furious  among  them  who  were  hanging 
on  his  bridle  and  on  the  shafts. 


4  Your  arm,  sir  !'  then  said  the  lady 
to  the  officer,  4  come  on,  my  young 
friend,'  said  she  turning  to  Andree. 

4 1  will,  for  thou  art  a  courageous 
woman,'  murmured  the  officer,  to  him- 
self, immediately,  and  with  feelings  of 
real  admiration,  offering  his  arrn  to  her 
who  had  asked  for  it. 

In  a  few  minutes  he  had  conducted 
the  ladies  to  a  stand  of  hackney-coaches, 
where  the  coachmen  were  sleeping  on 
their  boxes,  and  the  horses  with  half- 
closed  eyes  and  drooping  heads  were 
awaiting  their  meagre  evening  feed. 


CHAPTER  V. 


THE    ROAD    TO    VERSAILLES. 


THLE  two  ladies  were  for  the  moment 
saved  from  any  outrage  from  the  mob, 
but  it  was  still  to  be  feared  that  some 
prying  person  might  have  followed 
them  and  might  again  denounce  them, 
thus  causing  a  renewal  of  the  fright- 
ful scene  and  from  which,  perhaps, 
they  might  find  it  still  more  diffiult  to 
escape. 

The  youg  officer  foresaw  this  danger; 
and  this  he  evinced  by  the  activity 
which  he  displayed  in  awakening  a 
coachman,  who  more  benumbed  with 
cold  than  asleep  could  with  difficulty  be 
aroused.  The  cold  was  so  dreadfully 
intense,  that  contrary  to  the  usage  of 
coachmen,  generally  on  the  alert  to 
rob  each  other  of  customers,  not  one  of 
the  automatons,  at  twenty -four  sous  the 


hour,  stirred  a  finger,  not  even  the  one 
in  a  loud^to  whom  the  officer  addressed  himself. 
The  officer  jumping   upon   the  box, 


seized  the  poor  coachman  by  the  col- 
lar of  his  great-coat,  and  shook  him  so 
violently  that  he  at  length  aroused  him 
from  his  lethargy. 

4  Hallo  !  ho  !'  bawled  the  young  offi- 
cer in  his  ear,  perceiving  that  he  gave 
some  signs  of  life. 

4  Here,  master,  here  !'  replied  the 
coachman,  still  dreaming  and  rolling  on 
his  box  like  a  drunken  man. 

4  Where  are  you  going,  ladies?'  in- 
quired the  officer,  still  in  German- 

4  To  Versailles,'  replied  the  elder  of 
the  two  ladies. 

4  To  Versailles,'  cried  the  coachman, 
4  did  you  say  to  Versailles  ?' 

4  Undoubtedly.' 

''  Oh  !  I  dare   say ;  to   Versailles  in- 


Great  at  that   moment  were  the  ter-  '  deed,  and  the  roods  covered  with  ice — 
ror  and  confusion.  '  oh  !  no,  no.' 


40 


THE  QUEEN'S  NECKLACE ;  OR,  THE 


4  He  will  be  well  paid,'  said  the  elder 
of  the  two  ladies. 

*  You  will  be  well  paid,'  repeated  the 
officer  in  French. 

And  how  much  will  they  pay,'  asked 
the  coachman  from  his  box,  for  he  did 
not  appear  to  have  an  extravagant  con- 
fidence in  the  promise.  '  It  is  not  all, 
my  officer,  to  get  to  Versailles,  but  once 
there  we  must  get  back  again.' 

'  Will  a  louis  be  enough  ?'  inquired 
the  youngest  of  the  two  ladies  to  the 
officer,  continuing  to'  speak  in  German. 

'You  are  offered  a  louis,'  repeated 
the  young  man. 

« A  louis,  that  is  little  enough,'  said 
the  coachman,  '  for  I  run  the  risk  of 
breaking  my  horses  legs.' 

'  Rascal !  your  fare  is  only  three  livres 
from  this  to  La  Muette,  which  is  half 
way.  Therefore,  by  this  calculation, 
you  have  only  a  right  to  twelve  livres 
lor  going  to  Varsailles  and  back  again, 
and  you  are  offered  twenty-four.' 

4  Wo  do  not  wish  to  bargain,'  said  the 
elder  of  the  two  ladies,  '  two,  three, 
twenty  louis  even  provided  he  will  start 
this  moment,  and  not  stop  on  the  way.' 

'  One  louis  is  sufficient,  madam,'  re- 
plied the  officer,  then  again  addressing 
the  chachman, 

'  Ccfme  now,  rascal,  jump  off  your  box 
and  open  the  carriage  door.' 

1 1  will  be  paid  beforehand,'  said  the 
coachman. 

'You  will!' 

'  It  is  my  right.' ' 

The  officer  moved  a  step  forward. 

'  Let  us  pay  beforehand,'  said  the  el- 
der of  the  two  German  ladies. 

And  she  rapidly  plunged  her  hand  in- 
to her  pocket.  4 

'  Oh  !  good  heaven  !'  said  she  whis- 
pering to  her  companion,  '  I  have  not 
my  purse.' 

'  Really  ?' 

'  And  you,  Andree,  have  you  yours 
with  you?' 

The  young  lady  searched  her  pock- 
ets with  the  same  anxiety. 

'  No,  nor  I  neither.' 

•  Search  all  your  pockets.' 

4  It  is  useless !'  exclaimed  the  young  la- 
dy with  much  vexation,  for  she  perceived 
that  the  officer  wns  attentively  observ- 
ing hor. 

The  coachman  grinned  with  distend- 
ed mouth,  perhaps  congratulating  him- 
self on  his  sagacious  precaution. 

It  was  in  vain  thut  the  two  ladies 
rummaged  their  pockets,  neither  the 
one  cor  the  other  could  find  a  single 
BO  us. 


The  officer  saw  them  become  impa- 
tient, blush  and  again  turn  pale  ;  the 
position  was  becoming  more  and  more 
perplexed. 

The  ladies  were  about  to  offer  a 
chain  or  some  article  of  jewelry  as  a 
pledge,  when  the  officer  to  prevent 
them  from  suffering  such  a  species. of 
degradation,  took  from  his  purae  a 
louia  which  he  held  to  the  coachman 

The  coachman  took  the  louis,  ex- 
amined it  and  weighed  it  on  his  finger 
while  one  of  the  two  ladies  was  thank- 
ing the  officer ;  and  then  he  opened  the 
coach  door  into  which  the  lady  got  fol- 
lowed by  her  companion. 

'  Arid  now,  you  scoundrel,'  said  the 
officer,  *  you  will  drive  these  ladies  at 
a  round  pace  and  and  above  all,  faithful- 
ly to  Versailles.' 

'  Oh !  my  good  officer,'  said  the 
coachman,  'you  need  not  recommend 
that  to  me ;  that  is  perfectly  well  un- 
derstood.' 

During  this  short  colloquy  the  ladies 
were  consulting  with  each  other. 

And  in  truth,  it  was  with  terror  that 
they  thought  their  guide,  their  pro- 
tector, was  about  to  leave  them. 

'  Madam,'  said  the  youngest  to  her 
companion,  '  he  must  not  leave  us.' 

4  And  why  not  ?  Let  us  ask  him  for 
his  name  and  his  address.  To-morrow 
we  will  send  him  his  louis  whith  a  small 
note  of  thanks  which  you  shall  write  to 
him.' 

4  No,  madam,  no  ;  let  us  keep  him 
with  us  I  entreat  you.  If  the  coach- 
man should  be  unfaithful :  should  he 
make  any  difficulties  on  the  way  ;  with 
such  weather  the  roads  are  bad ;  and 
then,  to  whom  could  we  apply  for  as- 
sistance ?' 

'  Oh  !  we  have  bis  number.' 

4  That  is  all  very  well— madam,  and  I 
doubt  not  that  should  he  misconduct 
himself,  you  would  be  sure  to  have  him 
beaten  soundly,  but  in  the  meantime 
you  would  not  arrive  nt  Versailles  to- 
night ;  and  gracious  heavens  !  what 
would  then  be  said  '/' 

The  elder  ef  the  two  ladies  reflected  . 
for  a  moment. 

4  That  is  true,'  ebe  said. 

But  the  officer  was  already  bowing 
to  take  leave. 

1  Sir,  sir,'  said  Andree  in  GernituJ. 
'one  word  more,  if  you'plo»se.' 

4 1  am  at  your  orders,    madam,'  re- 
plied the  officer,  visibly   annoyed,  but 
maintaining  in  his  manner,   hie   tone, 
'and  even  the  accent  of  his  voice,  the 
•  raoet  exquisite  politeness. 


MYSTERIES  OF  THE  COURT  OF  LOUIS  XVI. 


41 


•  Sir,' continued  Andree,  'you cannot  corner  of  the  carriage  opposite  the 
refuse  us  a  favor,  after  the  many  ser-  elder  of  the  two  ladies,  his  greatcoat 
vices  you  have  already  rendered.'  carefully  spread  over  the  knees  of  the 

'  Spoak.'  ladyv. 

4  Well,  then,  we  will  acknowledge  to  A  most  profound  silence  reigned 
you,  we  are  in  dread  of  this  coachman,'  within  the  carriage. 

'  You  are  wrong  in  feeling  any  alarm,'  The  coachman,  whether  it  was  that 
observed  the  officer ;  '  I  know  his  num-  he  wished  faithfully  to  perform  his  part 
be i",  107,  and  :he  letter  of  his  adminis-  of  the  bargain,  or  that  the  presence  of 
tra'ion,  Z.  If  he  should  in  any  way  the  officer  inspired  him  with  a  due  por- 
misbc.havo  himself,  only  let  me  know  it.'  tion  of  respect,  perseveringly  urged  on 

'Let   you   know  it!'  cried  Andree,    his  half  starved  jades  along  the  slipjte- 
forgi-ttiiig  herself  for  the  moment,  for   ry  pavement  of  the  quays  and  the  road 
she   spoke  in  French ;  '  and   how  can   called  '  La  Conference.' 
we  do  that,  when  we  do  not  even  know       The  breath  of  the  three  travellers  by 
your  name  ?'  insensible  degrees  warmed   the  ktmos- 

The  young  man  started  back  a  step,      phere  of  the  carriage.     A  delicate  pe,r- 

'  You  speak  French,'  cried  he  with    fume  thickened  the  ah1  and  conveyed  to 
amazement,  '  and  you  have  condemned    the  brain  of  the  young  man  impressions 
me  during  a  whole  half  hour  to  murder  which  from  moment  to  moment  became 
the  German  language.    Ah  !  really,  that '  less  unfavorable  to  his  companions. 
is  too  bad !'  '  They    are,'    thought    he,    '  women 

'  Pray  forgive  us,'  rejoined  the  other  who  have  been  detained  too  late  in  some 
lady,  also  speaking  French,  and  who  rendezvous,  and  they  are  now  ne.turu- 
thus  courageously  came  forward  to  the  ing  to  Versailles,  rather  alarmed,  and 
succor  of  her  confused  companion,  somewhat  ashamed  ;  and  yet  how  does 
4  You  see,  sir,  although  not  foreigners,  1  it  happen,  if  they  are  women  of  distinc- 
perhaps,  we  are  not  altogether  at  home  I  tion,  that  they  wero  in  a  cabriolet,  and 
in  Paris  ;  and  certainly  not  at  all  at ,  driving  it  themselves  ?  But  that  is  very 
home  in  a  hackney-coach.  You  are  easily  answered.  The  cabriolet  was 
sufficiently  a  man  of  the  world  to  com-  too  narrow  for  th.ree  persoug,  and  two 
prebend  at  once  that  we  are  not  in  our  j  ladies  would  not  inconvenience  them 
natural  position  ;  to  oblige  us  only  by  selves  by  allowing  a  lackey  to  sit  be- 
tween them. 

But  that   neither   of  them   should 


halves,  would  be  to  disoblige  us.     To 
be  less  discreet  than  you  have  been,  up 


to  the  present  moment,  would  be  show- 
ing yourself  indiscreet.  We  judge  well 
of  you,  sir;  be  pleased  not  to  judge  ill 


have  any  money  about  them  !'  continued 
the  officer  to  himself;  '  this  is  really  a 
serious  objection,  and  deserves  reflec- 


of  us,  and  if  you  can  do  us  a  service,  do  I  tion.  Ah  !  doubtless,  the  lackey  had  the 


it  at  once,  and  without  hesitation,  or 
you  must  permit  us  to  thank  you,  and 
to  seek  assistance  elsewhere.' 

'  Madam,'  replied  the  officer,  struck 
with  the  tone,  at  once  charming  and 
dignified,  of  the  lady,  4 1  am  entirely 
at  your  service,  order  me  as  you  will.' 

'  Then,  sir,  be  so  obliging  as  to  get  in 
here.' 

1  Into  the  coach  ?' 

'And  to  accompany  us.' 

'  As  far  as  Versailles  ?' 

'  Yes,  sir.' 

The  officer,  without  saying  another 
word,  got  into  the  coach,  took  his  place 
on  the  front,  seat  and  called  to  the  coach- 
man to  '  Drive  on  !' 

The  door  being  closed,  the  cloaks  and 
furs  spread  equally  over  the  travellers, 
the  coachman  drove  through  the  rue 
Saint  Thomas  du  Louvre,  crossed  the 
place  du  Carrousel,  and  then  rolled  along 
the  Quays. 

The  officer  ensconced  himself  in  one 


puree.  The  cabriolet,  which  by  this 
time  is  probably  smashed  to  pieces, 
was  a  most  perfectly  elegant  one.  And 
the  horse!  if  I  know  any  thing  of  a 
horse,  was  worth  at  least  one  hundred 
and  fifty  louis.  None  but  rich  persons 
could  have  abandoned  such  a  cabriolet 
and  such  a  horse,  without  regretting 
them.' 

'  Their  being  without  money,  then, 
is  n  consideration  of  no  importance 
whatsoever.' 

'  i'es,  but  that  fancy  of  speaking  in  a 
foreign  language,  when  they  are  actu- 
ally French!  Well,  what  does  that 
prove?  Only  tha.  ihoy  have  received 
a  superior  education.  It  is  not  common 
that  women  of  intrigue  should  speak 
the  German  language  with  such  teutonic 
purity,  and  the  French  like  native  Pa- 
\B.' 

'  Moreover,  thore  is  an  inherent  air 
of  distinction  in  these  women.  The 
entreaty  of  the  younger  one  w»s  per- 


42 


THE  QUEEN'S  NECKLACE;  OK,  THE 


fectly  touching.     The    request  of  the   it  was   we   ourselves,    who    requested 


other  was  nobly  imperious.' 

'  And  then,  in  truth,'  continued  the 
young  man,  arranging  his  sword  in  such 


you  to  accompany  us?' 

4  And    even   exacted   it,'  added   the 
younger  of  the  two  ladies.' 


a  manner  that  it  could  not  inconvenience  '  Pray  do  not  overwhelm  me,  madam, 
the  ladies,  '  would  not  one  say  that  it  is  and  excuse  my  momentary  hesitation, 
dangerous  for  an  officer  to  spend  two  ;  You  know,  Paris,  do  you  not?  Paris  is 
hours  in  a  coach  with  two  pretty  wo-  full  of  snares,  disasters  and  deception.' 
men.  Pretty  and  discreet,'  he  added,  ;  '  And  therefore  you  took  us  fpr — 
'  for  they  do  not  speak,  and  are  waiting  ;  come,  now,  speak  frankly  ?' 


for  me  to  commence  a  conversation.' 

On  their  part,  the  ladies,  doubtless, 
were  thinking  of  the  young  officer  as 
he  was  thinking  of  them  ;  for  at  the 
moment  that  he  had  concluded  this  lu- 
cubration, one  of  the  two  ladies,  ad- 
dressing her  companion,  said  to  her  in 
English, 

4  Really,  dear  friend,  this  coachman 
drives  as  if  he  were  attending  a  funeral. 
We  shall  never  reach  Versailles  at 
this  pace.  I  would  wager  that  our 
poor  companion  finds  this  mortally  te- 
dious.' 

4  And  in  fact,'  replied  the  younger 
one,  '  our  conversation  is  not  excessively 
amusing.' 

•  Do  you  not  think  that  he  has  an  air 
particularly  comme  ilfaut  ?' 
4  That  is  my  opinion,  madam.' 
'Besides,  you  will.have  observed  that 
he  wears  a  naval  uniforms.' 
4 1  know  but  little  of  uniform.' 
4  Well,  as  I  was  saying,  he  wears  the 
uniform  of  an  officer  in  the  navy ;  and 
all  the  officers  in  the   navy  are  of  good 
family.      Besides   which,  his  uniform 
becomes  him  well.     He  is  a  handsome 
cavalier,  is  he  not  ?' 

The  ycung  girl  was  about  to  reply, 
and,  doubtless,  would  have  said  some- 


This  gentleman  conceived  us  to  be 
snares,  and  that  is  all.' 

'  Oh  !  ladies,'  criid  the  young  man, 
quite  humiliated,  4  I  can  assure  you 
that  nothing  of  the  kind  ever  offered  it- 
self to  my  imagination.' 

'  I  beg  your  pardon,  what  can  be  the 
matter?  the  coach  has  stopped.' 

4  What  has  happened  ?' 

'I  will  soon  see,  ladies.' 

4 1  think  the  coach  is  upsetting. 
Pray  take  care,  sir.' 

And  the  hand  of  the  young  lady  be- 
ing suddenly  extended  fell  on  the  shoul- 
der of  the  officer. 

The  pressure  of  the  hand  thrilled 
through  every 'vein.  By  a  very  natural 
movement  he  endeavored  to  clasp  it ; 
but  Andree,  who  had  yielded  to  a  mo- 
mentary impulse  of  fear,  had  thrown 
herself  back  again  into  her  seat. 

The  officer,  whom  nothing  now  de- 
tained, alighted  and  found  the  coach- 
man very  busily  occupied  in  getting 
one  of  the  horses  on  his  feet  again,  the 
animal  having  slipped  down,  and  hia 
legs  had  become  entangled  in-  the  har- 
ness and  under  the  pole.  They  had 
crossed  the  bridge  at  Sevres,  and  were 
near  the  village. 

Thanks  to   the  assistance  which   the 


thing  still  more  flattering,  when  the  i  young  officer  gave  to  the  coachman,  the 
young  officer  made  a  gesture  which  at  poor  horse  was  soon  on  his  legs  again, 
once  made  her  pause.  |  and  the  young  man  resumed  his  seat 

4 1  beg  your  pardon,  ladies,'  said  the   in  the  coach. 

officer,  in  excellent  English,  '  but  it  is  As  to  the  coachman,  congratulating 
necessary  I  should  inform  you  that  I  himself  for  having  so  amiable  a  custom- 
speak  and  understand  English  with  tol-  '  er,  he  gaily  cracked  his  whip,  with  the 
erable  facility ;  but  I  do  not  know  a  i  double  purpose  probably  of  animating 
word  of  Spanish,  and  if  you  are  ac-  j  his  horses  and  warming  his  own  fin- 
quainted  with  it,  and  should  wish  to  ]  gers. 

converse  in  it,  you  will  be  at  least  cer-  I  But  it  might  have  been  thought  that 
tain  of  not  being  understood.'  from  the  door  having  been  opened,  the 

'  Sir,'  replied  the  lady,  laughing,  '  we  cold  air  which  had  entered  had  chilled 
did  not  wish  to  speak  ill  of  you,  and  that  j  the  conversation  and  congealed  the 
you  must  have  perceived.  Therefore,  growing  intimacy  in  which  the  young 
do  not  let  us  stand  on  any  ceremony,  man  had  begun  to  feel  a  charm  for  which 
but  speak  in  French,  if  we  have  any  he  could  not  account, 
thing  to  say  to  each  other.'  4  The  ladies  merely  asked  him  the 

•  Many  thanks  for  this  favor,  madam;  nature  of  the  accident;  and  he  related 
and  yet  should  my  presence  be  in  any  to  them  what  had  happened.  And  this 
way  inconvenient  to  you — '  was  all,  and  silence  once  more  afflicted 

4  You  cannot  imagine  that,  sir,  since    the  trio  of  travellers. 


MYSTERIES  OF  THE  COURT  OF  LOUIS  XVI. 


43 


The  pressure  of  that  warm  and  pal- 
pitating hand  had  so  much  occupied  the 
mind  of  the  officer,  that  he  wished  at 
least  to  have  foot  in  exchange  for  it. 

He  therefore  stretched  forth  one 
leg,  but  however  carefully  and  skilfully 
this  was  managed,  he  could  not  find 
any  thing  to  press  against  it,  or  rather 
when  he  did,  he  had  the  grief  to  ascer- 
tain that,  it  retreated  precipitately  from 
the  contact. 

Once  even,  having  scarcely  grazed 
the  foot  of  the  elder  of  the  two  ladies, 
the  latter  said»with  the  greatest  possi- 
ble sang  froid, 

'I  am  sadly  inconveniencing  you, 
sir,  am  I  not  .'  you  have  not  room 
enough ;  pray  excuse  me.' 

The  young  man  blushed  up  to  the 
ears,  and  congratulated  himself  that  the 
night  was  dark  enough  to  conceal  his 
blushes. 

And  that  was  all ;  and  there  terminat- 
ed his  adventurous  explorations. 

Having  onpe  more  become  mute, 
motionless  and  respectful,  as  if  he 
had  been  in  a  church,  he  feared  even 
to  breathe,  and  squeezed  himself  up  in 
his  corner  not  taking  more  room  than  a 
child. 

But  by  degrees  and  in  spite  of  him- 
self, a  strange  impression  invaded  his 
thought,  and  even  his  whole  being. 
He  felt  without  touching  them  the  two 
lovely  women ;  he  saw  them  though 
his  eyes  were  closed ;  it  appeared  to 
him  that  a  particle  of  their  existence 
had,  as  it  were,  melted  into  his.  He 
would  have  given  the  world  to  have  re- 
newed the  conversation,  and  he  did  not 
dare  to  venture  upon  it,  for  he  was 
afraid  of  falling  into  any  common-place 
remark,  he,  who  on  their  departure 
from  Paris  disdained  even  to  utter  one 
of  those  every  day  sayings  so  usual  in 
the  world.  He  was  alarmed  at  the 
idea  of  appearing  simple  or  impertinent, 
in  the  eyes  of  these  women,  to  whom, 
but  an  hour  before,  he  thought  he  was 
doing  too  much  honor,  by  charitably 
giving  them  a  louis  and  being  common- 
ly polite  to  them. 

In  a  word,  as  all  the  sympathies  in 
this  life  are  explained  by  the  affinity  of 
the  fluids,  brought  into  contact  at  an 
auspicious  moment,  a  powerful  mag- 
netic influence,  emanating  from  the 
perfume  and  the  juvenile  warmth  of 
those  three  bodies  so  accidentally 
thrown  together  in  so  small  a  space, 
enchained  the  senses  of  the  young  man 
and  controlled  his  thoughts  while  it 
dilated  his  heart. 


And  thus  are  sometimes  engender- 
ed, although  they  live  and  die  in  a  few 
fleeting  moments,  the  most  real,  the  most 
sweet,  and  the  most  ardent  passions. 
They  have  a  charm,  because  they  are 
ephemeral ;  they  are  powerful  because 
they  are  restrained. 

The  officer  said  not  another  word. 
The  ladies  conversed  in  whispers. 

However,  as  his  ears  were  neces- 
sarily on  the  stretch,  he  now  and  then 
caught  a  disjointed  word,  which  pre- 
sented some  sort  of  meaning  to  his  im- 
agination. The  words  he  heard  were 
of  the  following  purport : 

'The  late  hour — the  gates — what 
pretext  for  going  out — ' 

The  coach  had  again  stopped.  This 
time  it  was  neither  a  horse  that  had 
fallen,  nor  a  broken  wheel.  After  three 
hours  of  courageous  efforts,  the  worthy 
coachman  had  managed  to  warm  his 
hands,  which  meant  to  say  that  he  had 
lashed  his  horses  till  they  were  in  a 
complete  foam  and  had  at  length 
reached  Versailles,  whose  large  ave- 
nues were  seen  by  the  red,  though  by 
no  means  brilliant,  glare  of  a  few  lamps 
whitened  by  the  hoar  frost. 

The  young  man  comprehended   that 
i  they  had  reached  the  end  of  their  jour- 
ney.    By  what  magic  had  the  time  ap- 
peared so  short  to  him  ? 

The  coachman   leaned  down  towards 
i  the  front  window. 

'  Master,'  said  he,  '  we  are  at  Ver- 
sailles.' 

'  Where  shall  I  order  him  to  drive, 
ladies  ?'  inquired  the  officer. 

4  To  the  Place  d'Armes.' 

'  To  the  Place  d'Armes!'  cried  the 
officer  to  the  coachman. 

4 1  must  go   to   the  Place  d'Armes  ?' 
I  asked  the  latter. 

4  Yes,  undoubtedly,  since  you  are  or- 
dered to  do  so.' 

,.  4  There  will  be  something  extra  to 
drink  I  hope  ?'  said  the  Auvergnese 
chuckling. 

4  Never  fear ;  drive  on.'   • 

And  the  crackings  of  the  whip  were 
again  heard.  , 

4 1  must,  "however  say  something,' 
thought  the  officer,  •  or  I  shall  oe  con- 
sidered a  simpleton  after  having  been 
impertinent.' 

'Ladies,'  said  he,  aloud,  though  still 
with  some  degree  of  hesitation,  «you 
have  now  reached  your  home.'  • 

'  Thanks  to  your  generous  assistance,' 

'  What  trouble  Ave  have  occasioned 
you,'  added  the  younger  of  the  two  la- 
dies. 


44 


THE  QUEEN'S  NECKLACE ;  OR,  THE 


1  Oh  !  I  have  more  than  forgotten  it, 
madam.' 

'  And  we,  air,  we  shall  never  forget 
it,  your  name  if  you  please,  sir  ?' 

1  My  name  ?     Oh !' 

4  It  is  the  second  time  that  we  have 
asked  you  for  it.  Take  care ." 

'  And  you  do  not  wish  to  make  us  a 
present  of  a  louis,  surely  ?' 

•  Oh  !  if  thaj;  is  the  case,'  replied  the 
officer  somewhat  piqued, '  I  yield  ;  I  am 
the  Count  de  Charny,    and,  as  madam 
has  before  observed,  an   officer   in   the 
navy.' 

'  Charny ."  replied  the  elder  of  the 
two  ladies  in  a  tone  that  signified,  '  I 
ahull  not  forget  it.' 

'George,  George  de  Charny,'  added 
the  officer. 

4  George  !'  murmured  the  younger  of 
the  two  ladies. 

'  And  you  reside  ?' 

'  At  the  Hotel  dea  Princes,  Rue  de 
Richelieu.' 

The  coachman  pulled  up. 

The  elder  of  the  two  ladies  opened 
the  left  hand  door,  sprang  actively  to 
the  ground,  and  then  held  out  her  hand 
to  assist  her  companion. 

•  Bui   at  least,'  cried  the  young  man, 
about  to  follow  them,  '.you  will  accept 
.my    arm,   Indies  :    you    have    not   yet 
reached   your  house,    and    the    Place 
•i'Anries  is  not  a  residence.' 

1  Do  not  stir !'  cried  the  two  ladies 
simultaneously. 

4  How  ?     I  must  not  stir  !' 

•  No  ;  remain  in  the  coach.' 

'  But,  to  :  Jlow  you  to  walk  alone,  and 
in  sucii  weather  !  It  is  impossible  !' 

•  Good  '  so  that,  after  having  almost 
refused  to   oblige   us  at  all,  you  would 
now  insist  on  obliging  us  too    much,' 
g;iil>  syi'1  the  elder  of  the  two  ladies. 

•  But  still,' 

'  There  is  no  but  in  the  case.     Be  to 
,-iud   faithful  Knight, 
ieur  de  Charny,  the  most 
iuMiilVI    (winks  ;  and,  as  you  are  a  gal- 
taut  ;;nu,  I'liuil'ul  Knight,   as  I  just  now 
s^iil,  wo  v.ill  not  even  ask  you  to  pledge 
your  vvon^' 

.vi.rii,   ami  for  what,  purpose  ?' 
you  will  shut  the  door  and  or- 
.mrhiii -.ti  to  return  at  once  to 
Pari ;.     This  \uu  will  do.  \viilyou  not, 
-ingle  glance  af- 
tor  u*  .'- 

4  Vou  are  right,  ladies  ;  it  would  be 
utioltteiii  to  pledge  my  word.  Conch - 
uiuu,  my  friend,  turn  about  at  once.' 

And  In-  slipped  a  second  louin  into  the 
driver's  brawny  hand. 


The  worthy  Auvergnese  bounded 
with  joy. 

'Gadzooks!'  cried  he,  'the  horses 
may  founder  if  they  will.' 

'  And  no  wonder,'  murmured  the  offi- 
cer, '  for  you  have  received  their  full 
value.' 

The  coach  rolled  on,  and  rolled  on 
rnpidly.  A  sigh  which  escaped  ihe 
young  man  was  smothered  by  the  noise 
of  its  wheels — a  voluptuous  sigh,  for 
the  Sybarite  had  stretched  himself  on 
the  cushions  stiM  warm  from  the  pres- 
sure of  the  two  lovely,  unknown  ladies. 

As  to  them,  they  renfaiued  standing 
on  the  same  spot;  and  it  was  only  when 
the  coach  had  disappeared  that  they 
directed  their  steps  towards  the  Cha- 
teau. 


CHAPTER  VI. 


AT  the  momenfflnat  they  commenced 
their  walk,  the  gusts  of  the  rude  north 
wind  wafted  to  the  ears  of  the  tra- 
vellers the  sonorous  chimes  of  the 
Church  Saint  Louis,  then  striking  the 
three-quarters. 

'  Good  Heaven !  three-quarters  past 
eleven,'  cried  both  the  ladies. 

'  But  see,  all  the  gates  are  closed,' 
added  the  younger  of  the  two. 

4  Oh !  as  to  that,'  replied  the  other, 
4  that  imports  but  little,  my  dear  An- 
dree,  for  had  the  gates  been  open  I 
should  not,  certainly,  have  entered  the 
palace  by  the  court-yard  of  honor. 
Come  now,  quick,  quick,  lot  us  go  by 
the  reservoir.' 

And  they  hastened  towards  the  right 
of  the  paliice. 

Everybody  knows  that  there  is  »  pri- 
vate passage  on  that  side,  leading  to  tho 
gardens.  They  soon  reached  that  pas- 
sage . 

'  And  the  small  gate  is  also  closed, 
Audree,'  anxiously  said  the  elder  of  tho 
two  ladies. 

'Let  us  knock,  madam.' 

4  No,  let  us  call.  Laurent  must  be 
waiting  for  me.  I  let  him  know  that  I 
should,  perhaps,  return  late.' 

4  Well,  then,  I  will  call.' 

And  Andriie  drew  near  the  gate. 

4  Who  goes  there  ?'  cried  a  voice 
from  tho  interior,  which  did  not  wait 
to  be  called. 

4  Oh  !  that  is  not  Laurent's  voice,' 
said  the  young  lady  with  alarm. 

'  No,  indeed.' 


MYSTERIES  OF  THE  COURT  OF  LOUIS  XVI. 


The  other  lady  then  approached  the 
gate. 

4  Laurent !'  murmured  she,  but  no 
one  answered. 

•  Laurent !'    again    cried    the    lady, 
knocking  against  the  gate. 

•  There   is  no  Laurent  here,'  gruffly 
replied  the  voice. 

'  But,'  s;ii(3  \ndreeeagerly,  'whether 
it  be  Laurent  or  another,  open  the 
gate  at  once.' 

'I  shall  not  open  ic.' 

'But,  my  friend,  do  you  n<?t  know 
that  Laurent  \ertn  the  habit  of  opening 
the  gate  for  us?' 

'  I  care  not  a  fig  for  Laurent ;  I  have 
my  orders.' 

'  Who  are  you,  then  ?' 

'Who  ami?' 

'  Yes,  who  are  you  ?' 

'  And  you,  who  are  you  ?'  said  the 
roice. 

The  question  was  a  brutal  one ;  but 
that  was  no  time  for  hesitation — it  was 
necessary  to  reply. 

•  We   are   ladies  of  Her   Majesty's 
suite ;  we  live  in  the  palace,  and  we 
wish  to  go  to  our  apartments.' 

'  And  I,  ladies,  am  a  Swiss,  belonging 
to  the  First  Company  Salischaraade, 
and  I  shall,  contrary  to  the  habit  of 
Laurent,  allow  you  to  remain  at  the 
door.' 

'  O'l !'  murmured  the  two  ladies,  one 
of  them  grasping  the  hands  of  the  other, 
with  concentrated  anger. 

And  then  making  an  effort  to  restrain 
her  feelings, 

•  My   friend,'   said   she,    '  I  perfectly 
understand  that  you  are  right  in  obey- 
ing  your   orders ;    every   good   soldier 
should  do  so,  and  it  is  not  my  wish  to 
make  you  fail  in  that.     Only  do  me  the 

.  service  I  beg  of  you,  to  call  Laurent, 
who  cannot  be  far  off.' 

•  I  cannot  leave  my  post.' 
•Then,  send  some  one.' 

'  I  have  nobody  ,to  send.' 

•  Pray  do  not  refuse.' 

'  Dear  me,  madam,  you  can  sleep  in 
the  town.  A  terriblo  affair,  truly.  Oh  ! 
if  they  were  only  to  shut  the  door  of 
our  barracks  in  my  face,  I  would  soon 
find  a  sleeping-place,  I  warrant  you  !' 

'  Grenadier,  listen  to  me,'  resolutely 
said  the  elder  of  the  two  ladies,  '  twen- 
ty louis  for  you  if  you  will  open  the 
gate.' 

'  Oh  !  yes,  and  ten  years  in  irons.  No, 
I  thank  you.  Forty-eight  livres  a  year 
is  not  quite  enough.' 

'  I  will  get  you  made  sergeant  imme- 
diately.' 


'  Yes,  and  he  who  gave  me  my  or- 
ders would  have  me  shot  at  once  :  much 
obliged  to  you.' 

'  Who  was  it,  then,  gave  you  this  order  ? ' 
'  The  King.' 

'The  king."  exclaimed  the  two  ladies 
with  terror.  '  Oh !  we  are  lost.' 

The  youngest  of  the  two  appeared  al- 
most bereft  of  her  senses. 

'  Let  us  see  !  let  us  see  !'  said  the 
other,  •  is  there  not  some  other  gate  ?' 

'Oh!  iimdani,  if  this  one  has  been 
closed  upon  us,  the  other  will  likewise 
be  so  and  if  we  cannot  find  Laurent 
here,  the  one  at  which  he  was  order- 
ed to  wait,  where  else  shall  we  find 
him  ?'  '  Oh  !  no,  it  is  a  preconcerted 
matter.' 

'  That  is  true  ;  you  are  right,  Andree. 
Oh !  what  a  horrible  trick  on  the  part 
of  the  king,  oh  !  oh  !" 

And  the  lady  pronounced  these  lat- 
ter words  in  a  contemptuous  and  almost 
threatening  tone. 

This  gate,  called  the  gate  of  the 
Reservoirs,  was  affixed  in  a  wall  of 
such  thickness,  that  it  formed  a  sort  of 
vestibule. 

There  was  a  stone  seat  on  each  side 
of  it. 

The  ladies  seated  themselves  upon 
one  of  them  agitated  even  to  despair. 

A  gleam  of  light  could  be  perceived 
beneath  the  door,  and  the  sentry's  step 
could  be  distinctly  h'eard,  as  well  as  the 
noise  he  made  with  his  musket,  which 
he  would  sometimes  shotRder  and  again 
strike  upon  the  ground. 

On  the  inner  side  of  this  thin  oaken 
obstacle,  was  safety  and  honor ;  with- 
out it,  shame  and  the  most  opprobrious 
scandal,  worse  tlian  death. 

'Oh!  to-morrow,  to-morrow,  when 
it  shall  be  known,'  murmured  the  elder 
of  the  two  ladies. 

'  But  you  will  only  have  to  speak  the 
truth.' 

'And  will  it  be  believed  ?' 

You  have  proofs,  madam  ;  the  soldier 
cannot  keep  guard  all  night,'  said  the 
younger,  who  appeared  to  gain  courage 
in  the  same  pnoportion  that  her  com- 
panion gave  way  to  fear,  '  he  must  be 
relieved  at  some  hour  or  other,  and  his 
successor  may  perhaps  be  more  com- 
plaisant. Let  us  wait.' 

'  Yes,  but  immediately  after  twelve 
o'clock  the  patroles  go  their  rounds ; 
and  1  shall  be  found  outside  the  palace, 
waiting,  concealing  myself.  Oh  !  this 
is  infamous  !  Indeed,  Andree,  the  blood 
is  mounting  to  my  head  and  ruflbcaling 
I  me.' 


46 


THE  QUEEN'S  NECKLACE ;    OR,  THE 


•Oh!  take  courage,  madam;  you  who 
are  usually  so  firm,  and  I,  who  but  now 
was  nearly  fainting,  am  now  supporting 
you.' 

'There  is  some  plot  under  all  this, 
Andree,  and  we  are  the  victims  of  it. 
This  has  never  before  happened,  never 
has  this  gate  been  closed,  It  will  kill 
me,  Andree,  I  am  dying.' 

And  she  threw  herself  back  against 
the  wall,  her  feelings  amounting  almost 
to  suffocation. 

At  the  some  moment  was  heard  upon 
the  dry  white  pavement  that  surrounds 
the  palace,  so  little  trodden  in  these 
days,  a  slow  and  measured  footstep, 
and  immediately  afterwards  was  heard 
the  light  and  joyous  voice  of  a  young 
man,  singing. 

He  was  singing  one  of  those  songs 
the  affected  style  of  which  appertains 
peculiarly  to  the  period  we  are  endea- 
voring to  describe. 

'That  voice !' exclaimed  the  two  la- 
dios  at  the  same  moment. 

'  I  recognize  it,'  said  the  elder. 

'  It  is  that  of—' 

The  song  was  again  resumed. 

'  'Tis  he  !'  whispered  the  lady  who 
had  been  so  much  agitated,  into  the  ear 
of  Andree,'  'tis  he  ;  he  will  save  us. 

At  this  moment  a  young  man,  wrap- 
ped up  in  a  well  furred  great  coat,  en- 
tered the  vestibule,  and  without  per- 
ceiving the  two  ladies  knocked  at  the 
gate,  calling  out  '  Laurent.' 

'  Brother  !'  ^aid  the  elder  of  the  la- 
dies touching  the  shoulder  of  the  young 
man. 

'The  queen!'  exclaimed  the  latter, 
starting  back,  and  taking  off  his  hat. 

'  Hush  ! — good  evening,  brother.' 

4  Good  evening,  madam  :  good  even- 
ing, sister,  but  you  are  not  alone.' 

'  No,  I  am  with  Mademoiselle  An- 
dree de  Taverney.' 

'  Ah  !  very  well,  good  evenihg,  Ma- 
demoiselle.' 

'  My  lord,'  murmured  Andree,  curt- 
seying ceremoniously.' 

'Are  you  going  out  ladies?'  inquire  i 
the  young  man. 

'Oh!  no.' 

•  You  are  then  returning  to  the  pal- 
ace ?' 

'  We  should  be  very  hnppy  to  get  in.' 

'  Have  you  not  called  Laurent?' 

'  Assuredly.' 

« Well,  then  ?' 

'Just  you  call  Laurent  in  your  turn, 
and  you  will  see.' 

'Yes,  yes,  call  him,  Monseigneur,  and 
you  will  see.' 


The  young  man,  whom  our  readers 
have  no  doubt  already  recognized  as  the 
Count  d'  Artois,  in  his  turn  called  out. 

'  Laurent !'  at  the  same  timo  knock- 
ing at  the  gate. 

'  Good  now !  they  are  playing  the 
same  farce  again,'  cried  the  voice  of  the, 
Swiss.  '  I  warn  you  if  you  torment  me 
any  longer  in  this  way,  I  will  call  my 
officer.' 

'  What  is  the  meaning  of  all  this  ?' 
cried  the  young  man  with  astonishment 
and  turning  round  towards  the  queen. 

'  It  is  a  Swiss  soldier  ^hom  they  have 
stationed  in  Laurent's  place.' 

'  And  who  has  done  this  ?' 

'  The  king.' 

'The  king?' 

•  The  Swiss  himself  told  us    so  !uat 
now.' 

•  And  with  an  order  ?' 

'  A  precise  one,  as  it  would  appear.' 

•  The  deuse  !  we  must  capitulate.' 
'  And  how  so  ?' 

'  Let  us  give  the  rascal  money.' 

'That!  have  already  offered,  and  he 
refused  it. 

'  Well,  we  will  offer  him  some  laced 
stripes.' 

'  Those  I  have  already  offered.' 

'  And—' 

•  He  would  not  listen  to  any  thing.' 

'  There  is  only  one  means  left  then.' 

'And  what  is  that?' 

'  T  must  make    a  tremendous  noise.' 

'  You  will  expose  us  by  so  doing.  Do 
not,  my  dear  Charles,  I  entreat  you.' 

'  I  shall  not  expose  you  in  the  slight- 
est degree.' 

'Oh  !' 

'  Stand  behind  me  out  of  sight ;  I 
will  knock  like  a  blind  man,  I  will  call 
out  like  a  deaf  one ;  and  at  last  they 
will  open  the  gate  and  you  can  slip  in 
after  me.' 

•  Well  then,  mtike  the  attempt.' 
The   young   prince   then   called  out 

lustily  for  Laurent,  knocked  loudly 
against  the  door,  and'  then  made  such 
a  clatter  with  the  hilt  of  his  sword,  that 
the  Swiss  cried  out  in  a  rage. 

'  Ah  !  if  that'*  the  way  you  are  going 
on  I  will  call  my  officer.' 

For  some  moments  they  heard  steps 
moving  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  door. 
The  queen  mid  Andree  placed  them- 
selves close  behind  the  Count  d'  Artois, 
ready  to  take  advantage  of  the  oppor-  . 
tunity  which  according  to  all  probability 
was  about  to  be  offered. 

They  heard  the  Swips  explaining  the 
whole  cause  of  the  noise. 

'  My  lieutenant,'  said  he,  '  there  are 


MYSTERIES  OF  THE  COURT  OF  LOUIS  XVI. 


47 


ladies,  and  with  them  is  a  man,  who 
just  now  called  me  rascal.  They  want 
to  enter  the  palace  even  by  force.' 

'  Well  !'  cried  the  Count  d'Artois, 
•  and  is  there  any  thing  so  very  aston- 
ishing in  our  wishing  to  get  in,  since 
we  belong  to  the  palace  ?' 

'  That  may  be  a  very  natural  desire, 
sir,'  said  the  officer,  '  but  it  is  forbid- 
den.' 

4  Forbidden  !  and  by  <  whom,  if  you 
please  ?' 

4  By  the  King.' 

41  beg  your  pardon,  but  the  King 
cannot  wish  that  an  officer  of  the  palace 
should  sleep  outside.' 

4  Sir,  it  is  not  for  me  to  scrutinize 
the  intentions  of  the  King ;  my  duty  is 
to  obey  his  orders  and  nothing  more.' 

4  Come  now,  lieutenant,  open  the  gate 
a  little,  that  we  may  converse  more 
conveniently  than  through  a  board.'  , 

4  Sir,"  I  again  repeat,  that  my  express 
order  is  to  keep  this  door  closed.  Now, 
if  you  are  an  officer,  as  you  say  you  are, 
you  ought  to  know  what  an  express  or- 
der is.' 

4  Lieutenant,  you  are  speaking  to  the 
Colonel  of  a  regiment.' 

4  Colonel,  excuse  me,  but  my  order  is 
a  formal  one.' 

4  The  order  could  not  be  given  against 
a  prince.  Come  now,  sir,  a  prince  can 
not  sleep  without  the  palace,  and  I  am 
a  prince.' 

4  My  prince,  I  am  in  despair  at  being 
compelled  to  it,  but  there  is  the  King's 
order.' 

4  Did  the  King  order  you  to  drive 
away  his  brother  like  a  beggar  or  a  rob- 
ber ?  I  am  the  Count  d'Artois,  sir ! 
Zounds,  you  are  running  a  great  risk, 
sir,  by  keeping  me  here,  freezing  at  the 
gate.' 

'  My  lord  the  Count  d'Artois,'  replied 
the  lieutenant,  '  God  is  my  witness  that 
I  would  give  every  drop  of  my  blood  to 
serve  your  Royal  Highness  ;  but  the 
King  did  me  the  honor  to  tell  me,  when 
he  confided  to  me  the  care  of  this  gate, 
to  open  it  to  no  one,  not  even  to  the 
King  himself,  should  he  present  himself 
here  after  eleven  o'clock.  Therefore, 
in  all  humility,  my  lord,  I  ask  your  par- 
don ;  but  I  am  a  soldier,  and  should  I 
even  see  Her  Majesty  the  Queen,  in- 
stead of  you,  standing  behind  that  gate 
and  shivering  with  cold,  I  should  reply 
to  Her  Majesty  in  the  same  terms  J;hat 
I  have  had  the  grief  of  replying  to 
you.' 

Having  siiid  this,  the  officer,  in  the 
most  respectful  innnner,  bade  the  prince 


good  night,  and  withdrew  to  his  guard- 
room. 

As  to  the  soldier  who  was  standing 
against  the  gate  itself,  he  did  not  dare 
even  to  breathe,  and  his  heart  beat  so 
violently  that  the  Count  d'Artois,  had 
he  placed  his  back  against  the  gate, 
might  have  counted  the  pulsations. 

4  We  are  lost ."  said  the  Queen  to  her 
brother-in-law,  taking  his  hand. 

He  remained  musing  for  a  moment. 

4  Is  it  known  that  you  are  out  ?'  said 
he  at  length. 

4  Alas !  I  know  not,'  replied  the 
Queen.' 

4  Perhaps,  it  was  only  against  me  that 
the  King  has  given  this  order.  The 
King  knows  that  I  go  out  at  night — that 
I  return  late  sometimes.  The  Countess 
d'Artois  may  have  known  of  this  too, 
and  she  may  have  complained  to  the 
King,  and  thus  originated  this  tyranni- 
cal order.' 

4  Oh !  no,  no,  my  brother ;  I  thank 
you  with  all  my  heart  for  the  delicacy 
with  which  you  endeavor  to  quiet  my 
apprehensions.  But  it  is  too  truly  for 
me,  or  rather  against  me,  that  this  mea- 
sure has  been  taken.' 

4  Impossible,  *iy  sister,  the  King  has 
too  much  esteem'  

4  But  in  the  meantime  I  am  out  of 
doors,  and  to-morrow  a  most  frightful 
scandal  will  be  the  result  of  a  most  in- 
nocent affair.  Oh !  I  have  an  enemy 
near  the  King's  person ;  of  that  I  am 
convinced.' 

4  That  you  have  an  en*emy,  my  little 
sister,  is  very  possible.  Well,  now,  an 
idea  has  struck  me.' 

4  An  idea !  let  us  hear  it— quickly.' 

4  An  idea,  which  will  make  your  ene- 
my look  more  stupid  than  an  ass  hanged 
in  his  own  halter.' 

4  Oh '  provided  you  can  only  save  us 
from  the  ridicule  of  this  position,  is  all  I 
ask  of  you.' 

'  If  I  can  save  you  !  There  is  no 
doubt  of  that.  Oh !  I  am  not  more  of 
a  simpleton  than  he  is,  although  he  is 
more  learned  than  I  am.' 

'  Who  is  it,  then?' 

4  Why,  by  heaven,  his  highness  the 
Count  de  Provence.' 

4 Ah!  then  you  have  also  perceived 
that  he  is  my  enemy.' 

4  Why,  is  he  not  the  enemy  of  every 
one  that  is  young — of  every  one  that  is 
handsome — of  every  one  that  can  do- 
that  which  he  cannot  do.' 

4  My  brother,  you  know  something  of 
this  order.' 

4  Perhaps :  but,  first  of  all,  let  us  gel 


48 


THE  QUEEN'S  NECKLACE;  OR,  THE 


away  from  this  windy  place,  for  it  is  as 
cold  as  charity.  Come  with  me,  my 
sister.' 

1  But  where  to?' 
'  You  will  sen  ;  it  is  a  place  where  al 
least  you  will  be  warm.      Come,  and 
on  the  way  I  will  tell  you  what;  I  think 
of  this  closing  of  the  gnte.     Ah !  Mon- 
sieur de  Provence,  my  dear  and   un- 
worthy brother  !     Take  my  arm,  sister; 
take   my  other  arm,   Mademoiselle   de 
Taverney,  and  let  us  turn  to  the  right. 
And  they  began  their  walk. 
'  You  were  saving  that  M.  de  Prov- 
ence'  obseiTed  the  Queen. 

•  Well !  thus  it  was.  This  evening,  af- 
ter the  King's  supper,  lie  came  into  the 
grand  cabinet;  the  King  had  been  con- 
versing during  the  day  with  the  Count 
de  Haga,  and  you  had  not  made  you/ 
appeal-awe  e.' 

'  I   had  set   out  for   Paris    at   two 
o'clock.' 

.  '  I  know  fhat  well.  The  King,  per- 
mit me  to  tell  you,  dear  sister — the 
King  was  no  more  thinking  of  you  than 
of  Haroun  Alraschid  and  Giaffir,  his 
grand  vizier,  and  was  talking  on  geo- 
graphy :  I  WHS  listening  to  him  impa- 
tiently, I  confess,  for  I  had  to  go  out 
also.  Ah  !  pardon  me.  we  probably  did 
not  go  out  with  the  same  object,  so  that 
I  am  wrong.' 

in,  say  what  you  please.* 
'  Pir-a.sc  t,o  turn  to  the  left.' 
'But  where  are  yon  leading  me  ?' 

••^iircely  twenty  stops  farther.  Take 
can  -if  snow.     Ah  ! 

Maclemoiselfe  uo  T.af-  ii;;y,  il'yun  leave 
my  arm  you  \viil  lutve  n  fall,  T  warn 
yon.  vlnrn  to  the  King, 

whd  ,i;jly  of  latitude  and 

longitude,  when  M.  .le  Provenr;-  nud- 
denly  said  to  him,  'I  should,  however, 
much  \vi  my  respects  to  the 

Queen.' 

,  %Ah  !  ah  !'  exclaimed  Marie  Antoin- 
ette. 

'The  Queen  sups  in  her  own  apart- 
ments,'replied  (ho  King. 

'Indeed.  I  thought  she  was  at  Paris,' 
added  my  brother. 

her  own  apartments,' 
qu'Vtly  replied  !]<o  King. 

;  nd  was  not 
received,'  rejoined  M.  de  Provence. 

•  saw  the  King  knii    II'IH  brows. 
Ho  >thor  and  my- 

self, and\\  tun  he,  doubt- 

iUiru.      Louis  is  jealous 
-  ;;iid  thi.-  )  .in  k  . 

:shod  to  see  you ;  they, 
pen  ,'d    10    admit    him,    and 


from  (hat  he  will  have  suspected  some 
thing.' 

'  Precisely  ;  Madame  de  Misery  wa» 
so  directed. 

'  That  is  just  it ;  and  to  assure  him- 
self of  your  absence,  the  King  will  have 
given  that  severe  order  to  turn  us  out 
of  doors.' 

'  Oh  !  you  must  acknowledge,  Count, 
that  this  is  a  frightful  trick.' 

'  I  do  acknowledge  it ;  but  we  ha** 
reached  our  quarters.' 

'This  house?' 

1  Does  it  riot  ,  i.  sister  ?' 

'Oh!  I  do  not  say  that;  on  the  con- 
trary, it  quite  charms  me.  But  your 
servants  ?' 

'  Well  ?' 

'  Should  they  see  me  ?' 

'  Go  in,  dear  sister,  and  I  will  engage 
that  no  one  shall  see  you.' 

'  Not  even  the  one  who  will  open  the 
door  1' 

'  Not  even  that  one. 

'  Impossible.' 

'  Well,  we  will  tiy  it,'  replied  the 
Count  laughing,  and  he  stretched  forth 
his  hand  toward  the  door.  The  Queen 
caught  his  arm. 

'  Be  careful,  dear  brother,  I  entreat 
you.' 

The  prince  pressed  with  his  other 
hand  against  a  panel  of  the  door  which 
was  elegantly  sculptured.  The  door 
immediately  flew  open. 

The  Queen  could  not  restrain  a  move- 
ment of  apprehension. 

'  Come  in,  sister,  I  conjure  you,'  said 
the  prince  ;  'you  see  that  so  far  Wrt  have 
met  no  one.' 

The  Queen  looked  at  Mdllo.  d 
erney  with  the  expression  of  one  who 
was  about  to  incur  some  risk.  "She, 
however,  crossed  the  threshold  with 
one  of  those  gestures  so  delightful  in 
woman,  and  which  mean  to  say,  'well, 
venture,  come  what  may.' 

The  door  swung  noiselessly  upon  its 
binges  and  closed  again. 

Then  she  found  herself  iira  stuccoed 
Mile,  with   a    marble.   l>:--'iriRnt;  it 
was  not  very  extensive,  but.  in  excellent 
:  it  #as  p-ivi-d  with -labs  of  mosaic, 
representing  bouquets  of  flowers,  while 
a  hundred  dwarf  rose-bushes,  in  japan 
.    were    placed   on    n  !>les 

around  its  walls,  shedding  their  per- 
fumed leaves  around,  so  rare  at  such  a 
season. 

-nth'  lit'rt  and  those  sweet  odors, 
so  fully  captivated  the  senses,  that 
when  thoy  reached  the  vestibule  the 
two  ladiHH  not  only  forgot  a  portion  of 


MYSTERIES  OF  THE  COURT  OF  LOCHS  XVI. 


49 


their  fears,  but  also  some  portion  of 
their  scruples. 

4  And  now,  all  is  well,  we  are  under 
shelter,'  said  the  Queen,  •  and  even,  if 
we  must  acknowledge  it,  the  shelter  is 
sufficiently  commodious.  But  would  it 
not  be  well  to  pay  at  once  attention  to 
one  thing,  brother  ?' 

'  And  what  is  that  ?' 

•To  send  away  all  your  servants.' 

'Oh  !  nothing  can  be  more  easy.' 

And  the  Prince,  taking  hold  of  a  bell 
pull,  which  hung  in  the  fluting  of  a  col- 
umn, pulled  it  and  x  instantly  was  heard 
a  single  stroke  which  vibrated  mys- 
teriously in  the  depths  of  the  stair-case. 

The  two  ladies  uttered  a  slight  cry 
of  alarm. 

'  Is  that  the  manner  in  which  you 
send  away  your  servants,  brother?'  ask- 
ed the  queen  ;  '  I  should  have  thought 
on'the  contrary,  that  you  were  calling 
them.' 

••Vere  I  to  ring  a  second  time,  y^s, 
one  of  them  would  come;  but  as  1 
touched  the  bell  but  once,  you  mny 
be  tranquil,  sister,  none  of  them  will 
stir.' 

The  queen  began  to  laugh. 

'Well,  well,  it  must  be  acknowledged 
that  you  are  a  man  of  precaution,'  she 
said. 

'And  now  my  dear  sister,'  continued 
the  Prince,  '  you  cannot  take  up  your 
abode  in  a  vestibule ;  be  pleased  to  walk 
up  stairs. 

'Let  us  obey,'  said  the  queen,  ^'the 
genius  of  this  house  does  not  appear  to 
be  particularly  malevolent.' 

She  ascended  the  stairs,,  the  Prince 
preceding  her. 

Their  footsteps  were  not  heard  as 
they  ascended  the  stair-case,  which  was 
covered  with  Aubusson  carpeting. 

When  they  had  reached  the  first  sto- 
ry, the  prince  rang  a  second  bell,  the 
sound  of  which  again  startled  the 
queen  and  Mademoiselle  de  Taverney, 
who  were  not  aware  of  his  intention. 

But  their  astonishment  redoubled 
when  they  saw  the  doors  swing  open 
as  of  their  own  accord. 

4  Really,  Andree,'  cried  the  queen  '  I 
begin  to  tremble  ;  do  not  you  ?' 

'  As  to  me,  madam,  so  long  as  your 
Majesty  continues  to  advance,  I  shall 
with  confidence  follow  you.' 

'  Nothing,  my  sister,'  said  the  Prince, 
« can  be  more  simple  than  all  that  is 
now  happening ;  the  door  which  is  op- 
posite to  you  is  that  of  your  apartment. 
Only  look  into  it.' 

And  he  pointed  out  to  the  queen  a 
7 


charming  little  apartment  of  which  we 
••iinnot  avoid  giving  a  description. 

A  small  ante-chamber  with  rose- 
wood panels,  the  ceiling  painted  by 
Boucher,  the  floor  of  which  was  inlaid 
with  rose-wood,  led  to  a  boudoir  hung 
with  white  cashmere  spotted  with  flow- 
ers, embroidered  by  the  most  skilful! 
artists  of  the  country. 

The  furniture  of  this  boudoir  was  of 
Gobelins  tapestry  shaded  with  that  art 
which  renders  the  tapestry  of  that  man- 
ufacture, executed  in  those  days,  equal 
to  the  works  of  the  great  painters. 

Beyond  the  boudoir,  was  a  handsome 
bed-chnmber  with  blue  drapery,  and 
hung  with  curtains  of  fine  lace  and 
Tours  silk,  a  sumptuous  bed  in  a  dark 
alcove,  a  dazzling  fire  was  crackling 
on  the  hearth,  the  chimney  piece  being 
of  white  marble,  twelve  perfumed  wax 
lights  were  burning  in  candelabra  made 
by  Claudion,  a  screen  of  blue  lacquer 
with  Chinese  figures  in  gold,  such  were 
the  marvels  which  struck  the  eyes  of 
the  two  ladies  when  they  timidly  enter- 
ed this  elegaut  retreat. 

Not  a  living  soul  was  to  be  seen, 
wherever  they  advanced  there  was 
warmth  and  light  without  their  being 
able  to  discover  the  cause  of  such  for- 
tunate effects. 

The  queen  who  had  with  some  de- 
gree of  reserve  entered  the  boudoir, 
paused  for  a  moment  on  the  threshold 
of  the  bed-chamber. 

The  prince  excused  himself  in  the 
most  happy  manner  on  the  necessity 
which  compelled  him  to  make  his  sister 
the  confidantof  a  secret  unworthy  of  her. 

The  queen  replied  by  a  half  smile 
which  expressed  more  than  nil  the 
words  she  might  have  used  on  the  oc- 
casion. 

'  My  sister,'  then  added  the  Count  d' 
Artois,  '  this  apartment  is  my  bachelor 
retreat  ;  I  alone  enter  it  and  I  always 
enter  it  alone.' 

4  Almost  always,'  said  the  queen. 

'  No,  always.' 

'  Ah  !'  exclaimed  the  queen.' 

'  Moreover,"  continued  he,  '  there  are 
as  you  see  in  this  boudoir,  a  sofa  and 
an  easy  chair,  in  which  many  a  time 
after  the  fatigues  of  the  chase  I  have 
slept  as  well  as  in  a  bed.' 

'  I  can  now  comprehend,'  said  the 
queen,  4  that  the  Countess  d*  Artois  may 
now  and  then  be  anxious.' 

'  Undoubtedly,  but  you  must  acknowl- 
edge that  if  the  Countess  be  anxious 
with  regard  to  me,  to-night  she  would 
be  in  the  wrong.' 


50 


THE  QUEEN'S  NECKLACE;  OR,  THE 


'  Oh !  as  regards  to-night,  I  say  no- 
thing, but  the  other  nights — ' 

'  My  sister,  who  is  wrong  once  is  al- 
ways wrong.' 

'  Well,  let  us    conclude,'    said    the 
queen  seating  herself  in    an  arm-chair,  j 
'  I  am  dreadfully  tired,  and  you  my  poor  j 
Andree.' 

4  Oh  !  I  am  absolutely  falling  from  fa- 
tigue, and  if  your  majesty  will  per- 
mit— ' 

4  In  fact,  you  are  turning  pale,  Ma- 
demoiselle,' said  the  Count  d'  Artois. 

4  Do  not  stand  on  ceremony,  my  dear,' 
said  the  queen ;  '  sit  down,  or  even  lie 
down,  the  Count  d'  Artois,  abandons 
this  apartment  to  us ;  is  it  not  so, 
Charles?' 

'  As  your  own  property,  madam.' 

'  One  moment,,  Count,    a  last  word.' 

'  And  what  is  that  ?' 

1  As  you  are  going  to  leave  us,  how 
can  we  call  you  back  again  ?' 

'  You  can  have  no  need  of  me,  sister 
being  installed,  dispose  of  the  house  as 
you  please.' 

'  There  are  other  rooms  then,  beside 
these.' 

4  Uunoubtedly ;  in  the  first  place 
there  is  a  dining  room  which  I  advise 
you  to  visit.' 

'  With  a  table  ready  served,  of 
course  :' 

4  Why,  certainly  ;  and  on  which  Ma- 
demoiselle de  Taverney,  who  appears 
to  me  to  have  great  need  of  it.  will  find 
some  good  warm  soup,  the  wing  of  a 
chicken  and  a  glass  of  sherry,  and  you, 
my  sister,  a  collection  of  those  prepared 
fruifs  you  are  so  fond  of.' 

4  And  all  this  without  servants  ?' 

4  Not  a  soul.' 

4  We  shall  see.     And  besides — ' 

'  What  is  there  besides?' 

1  Whyj  our  return  lo  the  palace.' 

'  You  must  not  think  of  returning 
there  during  the  night  since  such  an  or- 
der has  been  gjven.  But  the  order  giv- 
en for  the  night  will  cease  at  daybreak  ; 
at  six  o'clock  the  gates  are  opened. 
Leave  this  at  a  quarter  before  six  ;  you 
will  find  in  tliosc  wardrobes  cloaks  of 
all  colors,  and  of  every  shajfe,  if  you 
wish  to  disguise  yourself;  return  there- 
fore at  that  hour  to  the  paluce,  and  do 
not  be  anxious  with  regard  to  any  thing 
else.' 

4  But  you  ?' 

'  And  what  of  me  ?' 

4  Yes,  what  will  you  do*?' 

•  I  am  going  to  leave  the  house.' 

'  How  ?  we  are  then  driving  you 
away,  my  poor  brother.' 


4  It  would  not  be  decorous  that  I 
should  pass  the  night  under  the  same 
roof  with  you,  my  sister.' 

4  But  you  must  have  some  resting 
place,  and  we  are  depriving  you  of  your 
own.'  i 

'  Why  I  have  three  other  similar  to 
this.' 

The  queen  laughed. 

4Aiid,  yet  he  says  that  the  Countess 
d'  Artois  is  wrong  in  being  anxious  ;  I 
will  let  her  know  it,'  she  said  with  a 
charming  threatening  gesture. 

4  Oh !  then  I  will  tell  the  King  the 
whole  story,'  replied  he  in  the  same 
tone. 

'  He  is  right ;  we  are  completely  in 
his  power.' 

4  Altogether  ;  it  is  very  humiliating  ; 
but  how  is  it  to  be  avoided." 

'  By  submitting  to  it.  Thus,  you  say 
that  in  order  to  leave  the  house  to-mor- 
row morning  without  meeting  with  any 
one—  ^ 

'  A  single  pull  of  the  bell,  at  the  co- 
lumn below.' 

'  At  which  ?  the  one  on  the  right  hand 
or  the  left.' 

4  It  matters  not  which.' 

4  And  the  door  will  open  ?' 

'  And  will  close  again.' 

4  Of  itself?' 

4  Of  itself.' 

4  Thanks.     Good  night  brother.' 

4  Good  night,  sister.' 

The  Prince  bowed  and  disappeared. 
Andree  closed  the  doors  after  him. 


"CHAPTER  VII. 

THE    qUEEN's    ALCOVE. 

THE  next  *day,  or  rather  the  same 
morning,  for  pur  last  chapter  closed  at 
about  two  o'clock  after  midnight,  the 
same  morning,  we  say,  King  Louis 
XVI,  in  a  violet  morning  undress,  wear- 
ing no  orders,  and  unpowdered,  just  as 
he  had  risen  from  his  bed  in  short,  tap- 
ped at  the  queen's  nnte-chamber. 

A  waiting  woman  half  opened  the 
door  ahd  recognized  the  king. 

4  Sire, — '  said  she. 

4  The  Queen  ?'  inquired  the  King 
sharply. 

4  Her  Majesty  sleeps,  Sire.' 

The  king  made  a  gesture  to  the  wo- 
man to  let  him  pass,  but  she  did  not  stir. 

4  Well !'  cried  the  King,  '  do  you  in- 
tend to  move  ;  you  must  see  that  I  wish 
to  pass  by.' 


MYSTERIES  OF •  THE  COURT  OF  LOUIS  XVI. 


61 


The  king  had  at  times  a  promptitude 
of  gesture  which  his  enemies  called 
brutality. 

'  The  queen  is  sleeping,  Sire,'  timid- 
ly remonstrated  the  waiting  woman. 

'I  told  you  to  make  way  for  me.' 

And  in  fact  he  pushed  the  woman  on 
one  side  and  entered  the  apartment. 

When  he  reached  the  door  of  the 
queen's  bed-room,  the  king  saw  Ma- 
dam de  Misery,  first  feinnie  de  chambre 
to  the  queen,  who  was  reading  mass  in 
her  prayer  book, 

This  lady  immediately  rose  on  per- 
ceiving the  king. 

'  Sire,'  said  she  in  a  half  whisper,  at 
the  same  time  curtesying,  '  her  Majesty 
has  not  yet  rung  her  bell.' 

'  Ah !  indeed,'  said  the  king,  in  a  jeer- 
ing tone. 

'  But,  Sire,  it  is,  I  believe  not  more 
than  half  past  six  o'clock,  and  her  Ma- 
jesty never  rings  till  seven.' 

'  And  you  are  certain  that  the  queen 
is  in  bed  ?  you  are  certain  that  she  is 
asleep  ?' 

'  I  would  not  affirm  that  her  Majesty 
is  asleep,  but  I  am  certain  that  she  is 
in  bed.' 

'  She  is  there,  then  ?' 

'Yes,  Sire.' 

The  king  could  not  restrain  himself 
any  longer,  he  walked  straight  on  and 
turned  the  gilded  door  handle  with  pre- 
cipitation. 

The  queen's  bed-room  was  as  dark 
as  in  the  middle  of  the  night;  the  shut- 
ters, blinds  and  curtains  were  hermeti- 
cally closed,  excluding  the  smallest  ray 
of  light. 

A  night  lamp  which  burned  upon  a 
small  table  in  the  remotest  corner  of 
the  room,  left  the  queen's  alcove  in 
shadow,  and  immense  white  silk  cur- 
tains embroidered^  with  lilies  in  gold, 
fell  in  waving  folds  upou  the  bed. 

The  king  advanced  with  rapid  steps 
towards  the  bed. 

4  Oh  !  Madame  de  Misery."  exclaim- 
ed the  queen,  4  how  noisy  you  are  this 
morning,  you  have  awakened  me.' 

The  king  stopped  suddenly,  perfectly 
astounded. 

*  It  is  not  Madame  de  Misery,'  mur- 
mured he. 

4  Ah  !  it  is  you,  Sire,'  added  Marie 
Antoinette  raising  herself  on  one  elbow. 

'  Good  morning,  madam !'  said  the 
king  in  rather  a  tart  tone. 

4  What  good  wind  has  brought  you 
here,  Sire  ?'  inquired  the  queen,  '  Ma- 
dame de  Misery,  Madame  de  Misery, 
open  the  windows.' 


The  two  women  entered  the  room, 
and  pursuant  to  the  habit  which  the 
queen  had  made  them  adopt,  they  open- 
ed not  only  the  windows  but  the  door 
in  order  to  give  free  passage  to  the  fresh 
air,  which  Marie  Antoinette  always  in- 
haled with  great  delight  on  first  awak- 
ening. 

'  You  appear  to  enjoy  your  sleep,' 
said  the  king,  seating  himself  by  the 
bed,  after  having  looked  around  the 
room  with  a  scrutinizing  glance. 

'  Yes,  Sire ;  1  was  reading  till  very 
late,  and  if  your  Majesty  had  not  awak- 
ened me,  I  should  have  been  sleeping 
still.' 

4  And  how  happened  it,  madam,  that 
you  did  not  receive  yesterday  ?' 

4  Receive,  and  who  ?  your  brother 
Monsieur  de  Provence  !'  exclaimed  the 
queen  with  presence  of  mind,  at  once 
encountering  the  king's  suspicions. 

4  Precisely  so  ;  my  brother,'  replied 
the  King ;  4  he  wished  to  pay  his  re- 
spects to  you,  and  was  not  allowed  to 
enter  your  door.' 

'  Well  ?' 

4  They  told  him  you  were  absent. 

4  Ah  ?  did  they  tell  him  so  ?'  asked 
the  Qneen,  in  a  careless  tone,  4  Mad- 
ame de  Misery,  Madame  de  Misery.' 

The  first  femme  de  chambre  appear- 
ed at  the  door,  bearing  a  golden  salver, 
on  which  were  a  number  of  letters  ad- 
diessed  to  the  Queen. 

4  Did  her  Majesty  call  me  ?'  inquired 
Madame  de  Misery. 

Yes  ;  was  M.  de  Provence  told  yes- 
terday that  I  was  not  in  the  palace  ?' 

*  Madame  de  Misery,  in  order  not  to 
step  before  the  King,  went  behind  his 
chair,  and  held  the  salver,  on  which 
were  the  letters,  to  the  Queen.  She 
held  under  her  thumb  one  of  the  let- 
ters, the  handwriting  of  which  the 
Queen  instantly  recognized. 

4  Give  your  answer  to  the  King,  Ma- 
dame de  Misery,'  continued  the  Queen 
in  the  same  tone  of  indifference  ;  4  tell 
His  Majesty  what  reply  was  given  to 
M.  de  Provence  yesterday,  when  he 
presented  himself  at  my  door.  As  to 
myself,  1  do  not  now  remember  what 
it  was.' 

4  Sire,'  said  Madame  de  Misery  to  the 
King,  while  the  Queen  was  unsealing 
the  lette?^'  my  lord  the  Count  de  Prov- 
ence called  yesterday  to  pay  his  re- 
spects to  Her  Majesty,  and  I  replied 
that  Her  Majesty  did  not  receive  visit- 
ors.' 

4  And  by  whose  order  ?' 

4  By  order  of  the  Queen.' 


52  THE  QUEEN'S  NECKLACE  ;    Oil,  THE 


«  Oh  !'  exclaimed  the  King. 

During  that  time    the   Queen    had 

opened  the  letter,  and  had  read  these 

1     .. 
two  lines  : 

'  You  returned  from  Paris  yesterday, 
and  re-entered  the  palace  at  eight  o'- 
clock, jfliaurent  saw  you  come  in.' 

And  then,  still  in  the  same  nonchalant 
way,  the  Queen  had  unsealed  half  a 
dozen  notes,  letters  and  petitions,  which 
•he  scattered  over  her  eiderdown. 

'  Well !'  said  she,  raising  her  head 
and  looking  at  the  King. 

' 1  thank  you,  madam,'  said  the  King 
to  the  first  femme  de  chambre. 

Madame  de  Misery  withdrew. 

« Pardon,  Sire,'  said  the  Queen,  '  I 
wish  you  to  eplighten  me  on  one  sub- 
ject.' 

'  And  what  is  that,  madam  ?' 

'  Am  I  or  am  I  not  free  to  see  or  not 
to  see  M.  de  Provence  ?' 

'Oh  !  perfectly  free,  madam,  but' — 

*  But,  his  wit  fatigues  me  ;  how  can 
I  help  that ;  besides  which  he  does  not 
like  me,   and  it  is   true  that  I  return 
the   compliment.     I  expected  his  disa- 
greeable visit,  and  I  went  to  bed  for  the 
sole  purpose  of  avoiding  it.     What  is 
the  matter,  Sire  ?' 

'Nothing;  nothing.' 
'  One  would  imagine  that  you  doubt- 
ed'  

*  But' 

4  But  what  ?' 

*  But  I  thought  you  were  in  Paris 
yesterday.' 

1  At  what  o'clock  V 

'  At  the  veiy  hour  when  you  pretend 
you  went  to  bed.' 

'  Undoubtedly,  I  went  to  Paris  ;  and 
do  not  people  return  from  Paris  ?' 

*  Of  course.     But  all  depends  on  the 
hour  at  which  they  return.' 

'  Ah !  nh !  you  wish  to  know  precisely 
the  hour  at  which  I  returned  from  Paris, 
then?' 

'  Why — yes.' 

'  Nothing  can  be  more  easy,  Sire.' 

The  Queen  called  Maritime  de  Mis- 
ery. The  femme  de  chambre  re-ap- 
peared. 

1  What  time  was  it  yesterday,  Ma- 
dame de  Misery,  when  1  returned  from 
Paris  V 

'About  eight  o'clock,  your  Majesty.' 

'  1  do  not  believe  that,'  Siiid  the  King, 
'you  must  be  mistaken,  Madame  de 
Jliaery.  Inquire.' 

The  femme  de  chambre  remained 
erect  and  impassible.  She  turned  to- 
wards ihe  door. 

*  Madame  Duval !'  she  cried. 


'  Madam,'  replied  a  voice. 

'  At  what  o'clock  did  Her  Majesty 
return  from  Paris,  last  night?' 

'  It  mny  have  been  eight  o'clock,"  re- 
plied the  second  femme  de  chambre. 

Madame  Duval  put  her  head  out  of 
the  window  of  the  ante-chamber,  and 
called  out  '  Laurent !' 

'  Who  is  this  Laurent  ?'  inquired  the 
King. 

'  He  is  the  keeper  of  the  gate  by 
which  Her  Majesty  re-entered  the 
palace.' 

'  Laurent !'  cried  Madame  Duval,  'at 
what  time  did  Her  Majesty  return  to 
the  palace,  yesterday  ?' 

'  It  was  near  eight  o'clock,'  replied 
the  gate-  keeper,  who  was  on  the  ter- 
race, under  the  windows. 

The  King  bent  down  his  head. 

Madame  de  Misery  dismissed  Ma- 
dame Duval,  who  dismissed  Laurent. 

The  King  and  Queen  remained  alone. 

Louis  X^  felt  perfectly  ashamed, 
and  was  ma  Jang  every  effort  to  conceal 
this  feeling. 

But  the  Queen,  instead  of  triumphing 
in  the  victory  she  had  gained,  said  coldly 
to  him, 

•  Come  now,  Sire,  tell  me  what  more 
you  wish  to  know  ?' 

'  Oh  !  nothing,'  cried  the  King,  press- 
ing his  wife's  hand.  '  And  yet — par- 
don me,  madam — I  know  not  what  had 
got  into  my  head.  You  see  my  joy,  it 
is  almost  as  great  as  my  repentance. 
You  are  not  offended  with  me,  are 
you  ?  Do  not  look  so  out  of  humor — 
upon  the  word  of  a  gentleman,  it  would 
afflict  me  much.' 

The  Queen  withdrew  her  hand  from 
that  of  the  King. 

'  And  why  this  ?'  inquired  Louis. 

'  Sire,'  replied  Marie  Antoinette,  '  a 
Queen  of  France  cannot  utter  false- 
hood.' 

'  What  can  this  mean  ?'  said  the  as- 
tonished King. 

'  I  mean  to  say  that  I  did  not  return 
at  eight  o'clock  last  night.' 

The  King  drew  back  surprised. 

'  I  mean  to  say,'  continued  the  Queen, 
with  the  same  sangfroid,  'that  I  re- 
turned this  morning,  and  at  six  o'clock.' 

'  Madam  !' 

'  And  that  but  for  the  Count  d'Artois, 
who  Coffered  me  an  asylum,  and  from 
compassion  lodged  me  in  a  house  be- 
longing to  him,  I  should  have  remained 
at  the  palace  gate  like  a  mendicant.' 

'  Oh  !  then,  you  had  not  returned,1 
said  the  King  with  a  gloomy  air.  'Then, 
after  all,  1  was  right.' 


MYSTERIES  OF  THE  COUET  OF  LOUIS  XVI. 


'  I  beg  your  pardon,  Sire,  you  are 
drawing  from  what  I  have  said  an  arith- 
metical conclusion,  but  not  the  conclu- 
sion of  a  gentleman.' 

1  And  in  what  manner,  madam  ?' 

'  In  this :  that,  in  order  to  assure 
yourself  whether  I  returned  early  or 
late,  it  was  not  necessary  either  to  have 
closed  your  gate,  or  to  give  your  orders; 
but  simply  to  have  come  to  me  and  have 
asked  me,  at  what  time  did  you  return, 
madam  .'" 

•  Oh  !'  cried  the  King. 

'  It  is  no  longer  permitted  to  you  to 
doubt,  Sire,  your  spies  were  either  de- 
ceived or  bribed  ;  your  gates  either 
forced  or  opened,  your  apprehensions 
combated,  your  suspicions  dispelled.  I 
saw  you  ashamed  at  having  used  violent 
measures  towards  a  woman  who  was  in 
the  right.  I  might  have  continued  t to 
enjoy  my  victory.  But  I  consider  your 
proceedings  disgraceful  in  a  King,  un- 
becoming in  a  gentleman,  and  I  will  not 
refuse  myself  the  satisfaction  of  ex- 
pressing my  opinion.' 

The  King  dusted  the  snufl"  off  his 
frill,  like  a  man  who  is  meditating  a 
reply. 

'  Oh !  do  what  you  will,  Sir> 
the  Queen  shaking  her  head,  '  you  will 
never  be  able  to  excuse  your  conduct 
towards  me.' 

'On  the  contrary,  madam,'  replied 
the  King,  '  I  shall  be  able  to  do  so  with- 
out difficulty.  In  the  palace,  for  exam- 
ple, was  there  a  single  person  who  sus- 
pected that  you  had  not  returned  ?  No 
one  could  have  imagined  that  the  order 
which  I  gave  to  close  the  gates  was  di- 
rected against  you.  That  it  may  have 
been  attributed  to  the  dissipation  of  the 
Count  d'Artois,  or  of  any  other  person, 
you  will  readily  cotnprehend  it  affects 
me  not.' 

4  Continue,  Sire,'  said  the  queen. 

'  Well  then  I  sum  up,  and  I  say  that 
if  I  have  been  careful  of  appearances 
with  regard  to  you,  that  I  um  in  the 
right,  and  I  will  tell  you  that  you  are 
in  the  wrong,  you  who  have  not  acted 
with  the  same  caution  with  regard  to 
me  ;  and  if  I  wished  merely  to  give 
you  a  secret  lesson,  and  if  ,.the  lesson 
should  be  of  use  to  you,  and  which  I 
believe  it  will,  from  the  irritation  yuu 
have  evinced,  it  proves  still  more  clearly 
that  I  am  right  and  I  do  not  at  all  re- 
gret that  which  I  hare  done.' 

The  queen  had  listened  to  the  reply 
of  hm-  august  husband,  calming  down 
her  feelings  by  degrees ;  not  that  she 
Wits  any  tho  lest<  irritated,  but  that  sho. 


wished  to  reserve  her  full  power  for  the 
struggle  which  instead  of  being  termi- 
nated ehe  conceived  had  scarcely  com- 
menced. 

'  'Tis very  well !'  said  she.  '  So  you  do 
do  not  offer  any  excuse  for  having  com- 
pelled the  daughter  of  Maria  Theresa, 
your  wife,  the  mother  of  your  children,  to 
dance  attendance  at  your  door,  as  you 
j  might  have  done  to  any  woman  from  the 
I  street.  No,  in  your  eyes  it  is  quite  a 
j  royal  jest,  full  of  uttic  wit,  the  morality 
!  of  which,  moi-eover,  only  redoubles  its 
i  value.  In  your  eyes  it  is  a  perfectly 
natural  thing  to  have  forced  the  Queen 
of  France  to  pass  the  night  in  a  house 
in  which  the  Count  d'Artois-  receives 
his  opera  dancers  and  the  women  of 
doubtful  reputation  belonging  to  your 
court.  Oh  !  all  this  is  nothing,  a  king 
soars  above  ah1  such  trifles — a  philoso- 
phical king  more  than  another ;  and  you 
are  a  philosopher,  Sire !  Observe, 
however,  that  in  this  M.  d'Artois  has 
played  the  most  generous  part,  observe 
that  he  has  rendered  me  a  signal  ser- 
vice ;  observe,  that  I  have  on  this  oc- 
casion to  offer  my  thanks  to  heaven, 
that  my  brother-in-law  is  a  dissipated 
man,  since  his  dissipation  has  served  as 
a  cloak  to  my  own  shame,  since  his 
vices  have  been  the  means  of  saving  my 
honor.' 

The  king   blushed  and  bounded  un- 
easily in  his  chair. 

'Oh!'  continued  the  queen  with  a 
bitter  laugh,  '  I  well  know  that  you  are 
a  moral  king,  Sire ;  but  have  you  re- 
flected on  the  result  your  morality  will 
produce  ?  No  one,  you  say,  was  aware 
that  I  had  not  returned,  and  you,  your- 
self, believed  that  I  was  here.  Does 
the  Count  de  Provence,  your  instiga- 
tor, believe  this  ?  Can  you  say  that  M. 
d'Artois  believes  it?  Can  you  say  that 
my  women,  who  this  morning  and  by 
my  order  replied  falsely,  believe  it  ? 
Can  you  say  that  Laurent,  bribed  by 
the  Count  d'Artois  and  myself,  believes 
it  ?  Be  assured  that  although  the  king 
must  always  be  in  the  right,  the  queen 
may.  sometimes,  be  in  the  right  ulso. 
Let  us  adopt  this  habit,  Sire,  shall  we? 
you  to  set  spies  and  Swiss  guards  about 
me,  and  I  to  bribe  your  Swiss  guard* 
I  and  y#nr*6pies ;  and  let  me  tell  you  be- 
|  fore  a  month  has  elapsed,  for  you  know 
me,  and  know  that  I  will  not  be  con- 
i  strained,— well  then  before  the  lapse  of 
a  month,  the  Majesty  of  the  throne  and 
the  dignity  of  the  married  state  will 
have  disappeared,  and  we  will  sum  it 
all  up  some  morning,  as  we  are  doing 


54 


THE  QUEEN'S  NECKLACE ;  OR,  THE 


BOW,  and  we  shall  then  find  what  it  will 
cost  us  both. 

It  was  evident  that  these  words  had 
produced  a  great  effect  on  him  to  whom 
they  were  addressed. 

4  You  know,'  said  the  King  in  an  agi- 
tated voice,  'you  know  that  I  am  sin- 
cere, and  that  I  always  acknowledge 
any  wrong  1  have  done.  Will  you 
prove  to  me,  madam,  that  you  were 
right  in  leaving  Versailles  in  sledges, 
with  gentlemen  of  your  suite  ? — a  set 
of  hair-brained  youths,  whose  society 
may  injure  your  reputation  in  the  seri- 
ous times  in  which  we  are  living.  Will 
you  prove  to  mo  that  you  were  right  in 
disappearing  with  them  in  Paris,  like 
masks  at  a  ball,  and  not  to  make  your 
appearance  again  but  in  the  dead  of 
night,  scandalously  late  ;  while  my 
lamp  was  becoming  exhausted  with  my 
long  labors,  and  all  the  rest  of  the  world 
was  asleep  ?  You  have  spoken  of  the 
dignity  of  the  married  state,  of  the  ma- 
jesty of  the  throne,  and  of  your  posi- 
tion as  a  mother.  Is  what  you  have 
done  becoming  in  a  wife,  a  Queen,  a 
mother  ?' 

'  I  will  reply  to  you  in  two  words, 
•ir,  and  shall  I  say  beforehand,  I  am 
about  to  reply  more  disdainfully  than  I 
have  done  until  now,  for  it  appears  to 
me,  in  truth,  that  some  parts  of  your 
accusation  are  deserving  only  of  my 
disdain.' 

4 1  left  Versailles  in  a  sledge,  that  I 
might  the  more  quickly  arrive  in* Paris. 
I  was  accompanied  by  Mademoiselle  de 
Taverney,  whose  reputation,  thank  hea- 
ven !  is  one  of  the  purest  of  the  court, 
and  I  went  to  Paris  to  ascertain  per- 
sonally whether  it  was  true  that  the 
King  of  France,  the  father  of  his  peo- 
ple,— the  Philosopher  King,  the  moral 
support  of  every  conscience — who  has 
fed  the  hungry,  warmed  poor  mendi- 
cants, and  deserved  the  love  of  his  peo- 
ple by  his  beneficence — I  wished  to 
ascertain,  as  I  said,  whether  the  King 
could  possibly  allow  an  individual  of  his 
family,  as  royal  us  rhr  King  himself — a 
desendant,  in  short,  of  Kings  who  have 
reigned  over  France — to  perish  from 
starvation,  stagnate  in  oblivion,  and  to 
be  exposed  to  every  attack  of  vice  and 
misery.' 

'  I !'  cried  the  King  with  much  sur- 
prise. 

' 1  ascended,'  continued  the  Queen, 
•  into  a  sort  of  garret,  and  there  I  found, 
without  fire,  without  light,  without  mo- 
ney, the  grand-daughter  of  a  great 
prince.  I  gave  a  hundred  louis  to  this 


victim  of  royal  forgetfulnesa  and  neglect. 
And,  as  the  time  passed  swiftly  and  un- 
heededly  by  while  I  was  reflecting  on 
the  nothingness  of  all  our  grandeur,  for 
I  also  am  sometimes  a  philosopher ;  as 
the  frost  was  severe,  and  as  in  such 
weather  horses  cannot  travel  quickry, 
and,  above  all,  hackney-coach  horses.' 

'Hackney-coach  horses!'  exclaimed 
the  King,  «  did  you  return  in  a  hackney- 
coach  ?' 

4  Yes,  Sire,  the  number  was  107.' 

'  Oh  !  oh  !'  muttered  the  King,  wav- 
ing to  and  fro  his  right  leg,  crossed  over 
the  left,  which  with  him  was  a  sign  of 
great  impatience. 

'  Yes,  and  but  too  happy  to  be  able  to 
procure  this  hackney-coach.' 

4  Madam,'  said  the  King  interrupting 
her,  '  you  have  acted  well  ;  your  inspi- 
rations are  always  noble — perhaps  too 
hasty  in  their  mode  of  execution  ;  but 
the  fault  lies  in  that  warmth  of  gener- 
osity by  which  you  are  distinguished.' 

'  I  thank  you,  Sire,'  replied  the  queen, 
in  a  tone  of  raillery. 

4  Remember,'  said  the  King,  4  that  I 
have  never  suspected  you  of  any  thing 
that  was  not  perfectly  honorable  and 
faithful ;  the  step  alone  and  the  adven- 
turous bearing  of  the  Queen  displeased 
me-.  You  have  been  benificent,  as  you 
always  are ;  but  in  doing  good  to  others 
you  have  found  the  means  of  doing 
harm  to  yourself,  and  it  is  this  that  I 
reproach  you  with.  But  now,  as  it  ap- 
pears that  I  have  some  forgetfulness  to 
remedy, — that  I  have  to  watch  over  the 
fate  of  a  family  of  royal  descent— J  am 
ready  ;  give  me  the  names  of  these  un- 
fortunates, and  my  assistance  shall  not 
be  delayed.' 

4  The  name  of  Valois,  Sire,  is  suffici- 
ently illustrious,  I  should  think,  to  keep 
it  present  in  your  memory.' 

4  Ah  !'  said  Louis  XVI,  bursting  into 
a  loud  laugh,  4 1  now  know  what  you 
are  aiming  at.  That  little  Valois— is 
she  not  Countess  of  something— wait, 
wait,  let  me  see.' 

•  The  Countess  de  Lamothe.' 

4  Precisely,  de  Lamothe:  her  hus- 
band is  a  gendarme  ?' 

•  Ves,  Siije.' 

4  And  the  wife  is  an  intriguing  wo- 
man. |[Oh  !  be  not  angry.  She  moves 
heaven  and  earth,  she  overwhelms  the 
ministers,  harrasses  my  aunts  ;  she 
even  overwhelms  me  with  petitions, 
memorials,  and  geneaological  proofs.' 

4  Well,  Sire,  this  only  proves  that  all 
her  claims  have  hitherto  been  useless.' 

'  I  do  not  say  to  the  contrary.' 


MYSTERIES  OF  THE  COURT  OF  LOUIS  XVI. 


55 


'  Is  she  or  is  she  not  really  a  Valois  ?' 
'  Oh  !  I  believe  she  is.' 

•  Well,  then  !  a  pension.     An  honor- 
able pension  for  her ;  a  regiment  for 
her  husband  ;  a  position,  in  fine,  for  the 
scions  of  a  royal  house.' 

'  Oh  !  softly,  madam.  The  deuse  ! 
how  quickly  you  are  going  !  That  lit- 
tle Valois  will  always  pluck  feathers 
enough  from  me  without  your  aid.  Lit- 
tle Valois  has  a  good  beak,  I  can  assure 
you.' 

'  Oh !  I  do  not  fear  for  you,  Sire  ; 
your  feathers  are  hard  to  pluck.' 

'  An  honorable  pension,  with  God's 
grace  !  How  quickly  would  you  move. 
Do  you  know  the  dreadful  bleeding  my 
private  purse  has  had  during  this  hor- 
rid winter?  A  regiment  to  that  petty 
gendarme,  who  married  a  Valois  from 
speculation.  Ah  !  madam,  I  have  not 
now  a  regiment  to  give,  even  to  those 
who  would  pay  for  them  and  are  deserv- 
ing of  them.  A  position  worthy  of  the 
Kings  from  whom  they  have  descended 
to  these  beggars  ?  'Tis  not  to  be  thought 
of,  and  at  a  time  when  we  who  are 
Kings  have  not  a  position  worthy  of 
rich,  private  individuals.  The  Duke  of 
Orleans  has  sent  his  horses  and  mules 
to  England  to  dispose  of  them,  and  has 
dismissed  two-thirds  of  his  household. 
I  have  been  obliged  to  retrench  and  to 
put  down  my  wolf-hunting  establish- 
ment. M.  de  Saint  Germain  has  made 
me  diminish  my  household  troops.  We 
are  all  surrounded  by  privations,  my 
dear  Marie,  both  great  and  small.' 

'  But  yet,  Sire,  people  who  bear  the 
name  of  Valois  must  not  die  of  hunger.' 

'JDid  you  not  tell  me  that  you  had 
given  a  hundred  louis  ?' 

•  A  poor  alms  indeed  !' 

•  'Tis  royal.' 

'  Then,  you  give  as  much  more.' 

'  Not  I  indeed.     What  you  have  giv- 
en suffices  for  us  both.' 
:C  '  A  small  pension  then ' 

'  By  no  means;  nothing  fixed.  Those 
people  will  manage  to  drag  enough  out 
of  us  without  that  :  they  belong  to  -the 
family  of  the  nibblers  ;  when  I  shiill 
feel  an  inclination  to  give,  well  then  ! 
I  will  give  a  sutn,  but  without  allowing 
it  to  be  considered  as  a  precedent, 
without  any  obligation  as  to  the  future. 
In  a  word  I  will  give  when  I  have  too 
much  money.  That  little  Valois,  but 
really  I  cannot  relate  to  you  all  that  I 
know  of  her.  Your  good  heart  has 
fallen  into  a  snare  my  dear  Antoinette. 
I  ask  your  good  heart's  pardon.' 

And  saying   these  words  Louis   held 


out  his  hand  to  the  queen  who  yield- 
ing to  a  first  impulse,  was  about  to  raise 
it  to  her  lips.  Then  suddenly  pushing 
it  away. 

•  You,'  said   she,    '  you  are  not   kind 
towards  me.     I  am  angry  with  you.'   » 

'  You  are  angry  with  me — you  ? 
Well  then,  I  on  the  contrary,  I  — ' 

•  Oh  !  yes,    say  that  you   are  not  an- 
gry with  me,  you  who  shut  the  gate  of 
Versailles  against  me  ;  you  who  come 
at  six   in   the   morning  into   my  ante- 
chamber, who  push  open   my  door  by  , 
main   force    and  come   into   my  room 
rolling  your  eyes  so  furiously.' 

The  king  laughed  heartily. 

•  No,'  said  he,  *  I   am  not  angry  with 
you.' 

4  You  are  no  longer  angry  with  me, 
if  you  will — ' 

'  What  will  you  give  me  if  I  prove  to 
you  that  even  when  I  came  here  I  bore 
no  ill  will  towards  you.' 

'Let us  first  see  the  proof.' 

'  Oh  !  that  is  by  no  means  difficult,' 
replied  the  King,  « the  proof,  is  in  my 
pocket.' 

'  Really,'  cried  the  Queen,  rising  and 
setting  up  in  bed,  with  some  degree  of 
curiosity,  '  you  have  something  to  give 
me  ?  Oh !  really  then  you  are  very 
amiable  ;  but,  understand  me,  I  will 
not  believe  you  unless  you  show  me 
the  proof  at  once.  Oh !  no  subter- 
fuge. I  would  almost  wager  that  it  is 
again  something  you  are  about  to  prom- 
ise.' 

Then  with  a  smile  replete  with  kind- 
ness the  King  put  his  hand  into  his  coat 
pocket,  but  with  that  slowness  which 
redoubles  curiosity,  and  such  as  makes 
children  stamp  wth  impatience  -when 
expecting  to  receive  some  toy.  At 
length  he  drew  forth  from  his  pocket  a 
red  morocco  case,  artistically  worked 
and  ornamented  with  rich  gilding. 

1  A  casket !'  exclaimed  the  Queen, 
'  ah  !  let  me  see  it.' 

The  King  placed  the  casket  on  the 
bed. 

The  Queen  seized  it  eagerly  and 
drew  it  towards  her. 

She  had  scarcely  opened  the  box 
when  delighted,  dazzled,  she  exclaim- 
ed. 

'  Oh !  how  beautiful !  Gracious 
heaven  !  how  beautiful !' 

.The  King  felt  a  thrill  of  delight  rush- 
ing through  every  vein. 

4  You  think  so,'  said  he. 

The  Queen  made  no  reply,  she  was 
almost  breathless.  She  then  drew  from 
the  case  a  diamond  necklace,  the  atones 


58 


THE  QUEEN'S  NECKLACE;  OR,  THE 


in  which  were  so  large,  BO  pure,  so 
sparkling  and  so  skilfully  assorted,  that 
it  appeared  to  her  a  river  of  phosphoric 
Sanies. 

The  necklace  undulated  in  her  lovely 
hands  like  the  rings  of  a  serpent  each 
scale  of  whose  skin  emitted  lightning. 

'Oh!  'tis  magnificent,'  cried  the 
Queen  at  last  able  to  speak,  '  magnifi- 
cent,' she  repeated,  her  eyes  increasing 
in  animation  whether  it  was  from  the 
contact  of  those  splendid  diamonds  or 
at  the  thought  that  there  was  not  anoth- 
er woman  in  the  world  who  could  have 
such  a  necklace. 

'  Then,  yon  are  pleased  ?'  said  the 
King. 

'  Enthusiastically  so,  you  make  me 
but  too  happy.' 

•  Really  ." 

'  Observe  but  this  first  row,  the  dia- 
monds are  as  large  as  hazelnuts.' 

'  They  are  so,  really.' 

'  And  so  well  matched,  that  they  could 
not  be  distinguished  the  one  from  the 
other.  How  skilfully  has  been  man- 
aged their  gradation  in  size  !  What 
artisticul  proportion  between  the  differ- 
ence in  the  first  and  second,  and  from 
the  second  to  the  third.  The  jeweller 
who  selected  these  diamonds  and  form- 
ed this  necklace  is  an  artist. 

4  There  are  two  of  them.' 

4  1  would  wager  then  that  it  is  Boeh- 
mer  and  Bossange.' 

'  You  have  guessed  rightly.' 

1  Really,  no  one  but  they  could  have 
ventured  on  such  an  undertaking. 
How  beautiful  it  is,  Sire,  oh !  how 
beautiful.' 

'  Madam,  madam,'  said  the  King,  '  you 
are  paying  too  much  for  that  necklace 
— take  care.' 

4  Oh  !'  exclaimed  the  Queen,  'oh  ! 
Sure.' 

And  suddenly  her  radiant  brow  was 
clouded  and  bent  down. 

This  change  in  her  countenance  was 
so  rapid,  and  so  rapidly  effaced  that 
the  King  had  not  time  to  remark  it. 

4  Come,'  said  he,  4  let  me  enjoy  one 
pleasure  ?' 

4  And  what  is  that  ?' 

'That  of  fastening  these  diamonds 
round  your  neck.' 

The  Queen  held  back  his  hand. 

4  It  costs  an  immense  sum,  does  it 
not  ?'  she  said,  sorrowfully. 
'  4  In  truth  it  does,'  replied  the  King, 
laughing;  "but  I  have  already  tnlil 
you  that  you  have  iu^t  piiid  more  than 
U  is  worth,  and  it  will  only  be  when 
it  is  fixed  in  its  place,  that  is  around 


your  neck,  that  it  will  attain  it*  real 
value.' 

And  saying  these  words,  Louis  ap- 
proached the  Queen,  holding  in  each 
hand  an  end  of  the  magnificent  neck- 
lace, in  order  to  fix  the  snap,  composed 
of  a  large  diamond. 

4  No,  no,'  said  the  Queen,  4  no  child- 
ishness. Put  the  necklace  back  into  the 
casket,  Sire.' 

And  she  shook  her  head. 

4  You  refuse,  then,  to  allow  me  to  be 
die  first  to  see  you  wear  it  ?r 

4  God  forbid  that  I  should  refuse  you 
that  pleasure,  Sire,  were  I  to  accept  the 
necklace;  but — ? 

4  But — '  cried  the  King,  much  sur- 
prised. 

4  But  neither  you,  nor  any  other  per* 
soa,  Sire,  shall  ever  see  a  necklace  of 
that  value  on  my  neck.' 

'  You  will  not  wear  it,  madam  ?' 

'Never.' 

4  You  refuse  to  accept  it  from  me  ?' 

*  I  refuse  to  hang  round  my  neck  a 
million,  perhaps  a  million  and  a  half, 
for  I  estimate  that  necklace  at  fifteen 
hundred  thousand  livres;  am  I  not  right?* 

4 1  do  not  say  to  the  contrary.' 

4  And  I  refuse  to  wear  upon  my  neck 
a  million  and  a  half  when  the  coffers 
of  the  King  are  empty,  when  the  King 
is  obliged  to  calculate  his  resources,  and 
to  say  to  the  starving  poor,  44 1  have 
no  more  money,  may(God  succor  you."  ' 

'  How !  can  that  which  you  are  say- 
ing be  meant  seriously  ?' 

4  Listen,  Sire  ;  Monsieur  de  Sartineg 
one  day  told  me  that  for  fifteen  hundred 
thousand  livres  a  ship  of  the  line  could 
be  built  and  fitted  out ;  and,  in  truth, 
Sire,  the  King  of  France  stands  more  in 
need  of  a  ship  of  the  line  than  the 
Queen  of  France  does  of  a  diamond  neck- 
lace.' 

4  Oh !'  exclaimed  the  King,  enrap- 
tured with  delight,, his  eyes  streaming 
with  tears,  4  Oh !  this  action  of  yours 
is  perfectly  sublime.  Thanks,  thanks, 
thanks  !  Antoinette,  you  are  an  excel- 
lent woman.' 

And  to  crown  worthily  this  cordial 
and  citizen-like  demonstration,  the  good 
King  threw  his  arms  round  Marie  An- 
toinette's neck  and  kissed  her  tenderly. 

4  Oh  !  what  blessings  will  be  shower- 
ed upon  your  head,  madam  !'  exclaimed 
he,  4  when  the  words  you  have  just  ut- 
tered shall  be  repeated.' 

Tin-  Queen  sighed. 

'  It  is  ,-int.  yet  too  late.'  said,  the  King, 
eagerly ;  4  that  sigh  was  one  of  re- 
gret'  


MYSTERIES  OF  THE  COURT  OF  LOUIS  XVI. 


•No,  Sire,  it  was  a  sigh  of  relief; 
shut  up  that  casket  and  return  it  to  the 
jewellers.' 

'  I  had  already  arranged  with  them 
my  terms  of  payment;  the  money  is 
ready  ;  come  now,  what  shall  I  do  with 
it.  13e  not  so  disinterested,  madam.' 

'  No  ;  I  have  well  considered  it.  No, 
decidedly  I  will  not  have  that  necklace, 
Sire  ;  but  there  is  something  else  I 
wish.' 

'  The  deuse  !  My  sixteen  hundred 
thousand  francs  are  already  in  danger.' 

'  Sixteen  hundred  thousand  franea  ? 
Only  see  now  !  Why,  does  it  cost  so 
much  as  that  ?' 

4  In  good  faith,  madam,  as  the  word 
escaped  me,  I  will  not  deny  it.' 

'  Be  not  alarmed  ;  what  I  am  about 
to  ask  will  be  less  dear  than  that.' 

1  What  do  you  ask  of  me  ?' 

'  To  Jet  me  go  once  more  to  Paris.' 

•Oh !  that  is^easy  enough,  and,  above 
all,  not  expensive.' 

4  To  Paris,  to  the  Place  Vendome.' 

•  The  deuse !  the  deuse  ." 

'  To  M.  Mesmer's  house.' 

The  King  scratched  hia  ear. 

'Well,  well,'  said  he,  'you  have  re- 
fused a  caprice  of  mine  of  sixteen  hun- 
dred thousand  livres,  I  may  surely  in- 
dulge you  in  this  one.  Go  then  to  visit 
M.  Mesmer ;  but,  in  my  turn,  I  shall 
add  a  condition.' 

'  And  what  is  that  ?' 

'  That  you  shall  be  accompanied  by  a 
princess  of  the  blood  royal.' 

The  Queen  reflected  for  a  moment. 

'  Shall  it  be  Madame  de  Lamballe  ?' 
said  she. 

1  Madame  de  Lamballe ;  well,  be  it  so.' 

'  It  is  agreed,  then.' 

'  I  sign  it.' 

'Thanks.' 

'  And  on  leaving  you,  madam,  I  go 
forthwith  to  order  my  ship  of  the  line, 
and  will  baptize  it  '  The  Queen's  Neck- 
lace.' You  shall  be  its  god- mother, 
madam,  and  when  built  I  will  send  it  to 
Laperouse.' 

The  King  kissed  his  wife's  hand,  and 
left  her  apartment  in  an  ecstacy  ,of  joy. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE    qUEEN'S    PRIVATE    LEVEE. 

THE  King  had  scarcely  left  the  room, 
when  the  Queen  rose  and  went  to  the 
window  to  inhale  the  purn  and  frosty 
morning  air. 

S 


All  announced  a  brilliant  morning, 
full  of  that  charm  which  the  arrival  of 
spring  gives  to  some  April  days.  To 
the  frost  of  the  night  had  succeeded  the 
balmy  warmth  of  a  sun  already  sensibly 
felt.  The  wind  had  changed  since  the 
previous  evening,  from  north  to  south- 
east. 

If  it  remained  in  that  direction,  win- 
I  tA,  that  terrible  winter  of  1784,  was  at 
' an  end. 

Already,  in  factt  was  to  be  seen  on 
the  rosy  hovi/.on  that  greyish  vapor, 
which  is  nothing  more  than  humidity, 
driven  before  it  by  the  BUD. 

The  hoar  frost  was  falling  by  degrees 
from  the  branches  into  the  flower-beds, 
and  the  email  birds  begun  to  light  upon 
the  new-formed  buds  and  clasp  them 
with  their  delicate  feet. 

In  the  avenues,  upon  the  statues, — 
upon  the  balustrades  of  the  railings,  the 
ice  was  gliding  down  in  glittering  dia- 
monds ;  it  had  not  yet  dissolved  to  wa- 
ter, but  it  was  no  longer  solid  ice. 

All  announced  the  genial  struggle  of 
spring  against  the  silvery  rime,  and  pre- 
dicted the  speedy  defeat  of  winter. 

'  If  we  wish  to  take  advantage  of  the 
ice,'  cried  the  Queen,  observing  the 
state  of  the  atmosphere,  '  I  think  we 
must  be  speedy ;  do  you  not  think  so, 
Madame  de  Misery?'  she  added,  turn- 
ing towards  her,  '  for  spring  is  rapidly 
approaching.' 

'  Your  Majesty  has  for  a  long  time 
desired  to  form  a  party  upon  the  Swisn 
pond,'  replied  the  first  femme  de  cham- 
bre. 

'Well,  then,  we  will  get  up  a  party 
for  this  very  day,'  said  the  Queen,  *  for 
to-morrow  it  would,  perhaps,  be  too 
late.' 

'  Then,  at  what  hour  will  your  Ma-  * 
jesty  please  to  dress  ?' 

'  Immediately ;  I  will  take  a  light 
breakfast  and  then  go  out.' 

'  Are  these  the  only  orders  your  Ma- 
jesty has  to  give  ?' 

'  You  will  send  to  inquire  whether 
Mademoiselle  de  Taverney  1ms  risen, 
and  let  her  be  informed  I  wish  to  speak 
with  her.' 

'  Mademoiselle  de  Taverney  is  alrea- 
dy in  the  ante-chamber.'  replied  the 
femme  de  ch/iinbre. 

'  Ak-eady  !'  exclaimed  the  Queen,  for 
she  knew  more  accurately  than  any  one 
at  what  hour  Andree  must  have  gone  to 
bed. 

•  Oh  !  madam,  she  has  been  waiting 
monj  than  twenty  minutes.'  - 

4  Introduce  her.' 


58 


THE  QUEEN'S  NECKLACE;    OR,  THE 


And  Andree  accordingly  entered  the 
Queen's  room  just  as  the  clock  in  the 
marble  court-yard  was  striking  nine. 

Already  dressed  with  care  like  every 
other  lady  of  the  court,  who  was  not 
entitled  to  appear  en  neglige  before  her 
sovereign,  Mademoiselle  de  Taverney 
presented  herself  smiling  but  somewhat 
agitated. 

The  Queen  also  smiled,  which  traa- 
quillized  Andrea's  fears. 

'  That  will  do,  my  good  Misery,'  said 
the  Queen  ;  '  now  send  me  Leonard, 
and  my  tailor.' 

Then  having  with  her  eyes  followed 
Madame  de  Misery  to  the  door,  and  ob- 
served that  it  was  closed  after  her.' 

'  Nothing  unpleasant  has  occurred,' 
said  she,  '  the  King  was  really  charm- 
ing ;  he  laughed,  and  was  altogether 
disarmed.' 

'  But  did  he  know  ?'  inquired  An- 
dree. 

'  You  can  understand  Andree,  that 
one  speaks  not  falsely  having  committed 
no  wrong,  and  when  one  is  Queen  of 
France.' 

'  That  is  true,  madam,'  replied  An- 
dree.' 

'  But  yet,  my  dear  Andree,  it  appears 
we  have  committed  a  fault.' 

'  A  fault,  madam,'  said  Andree,  '  oh  ! 
doubtless  more  than  one.' 

'That  may  be  possible;  but  in  short  the 
greatest  one  is  having  pitied  Madame 
de  Lamothe ;  the  King  does  not  like 
her ;  I,  notwithstanding,  acknowledge 
she  pleased  me.' 

'  Oh  !  your  Majesty  is  too  good  a 
judge  for  any  one  to  presume  not  to 
bow  before  your  decrees.' 

•Here  is  Leonard,'  said  Madame  de 
Misery,  returning  to  the  room. 

The  Queen  seated  herself  before  her 
toilet-table,  and  the  celebrated  hair 
dresser  commenced  his  office. 

The  Queen  had  the  finest  hair  ima- 
ginable, and  her  coquetry  consisted  in 
making  people  admire  her  hair. 

Leonard  knew  this,  and  instead  of 
proceeding  rapidly,  as  he  would  have 
done  with  any  other  woman,  allowed 
the  Queen  time  enough  to  admire  her- 
self. 

That  morning  Marie  Antoinette  was 
happy,  even  joyful;  she  >  was  more 
beautiful  than  usual.  She  would  first 
gaze  at  her  mirror,  then  at  Andree  to 
whom  she  addressed  the  most  affec- 
tionate looks. 

'  You  have  not  been  scolded,  you,' 
said  ehe,  '  you  who  are  free  and  proud, 
you  of  whom  all  the  world  is  rather 


afraid,  because,  like  the  divine  Minerva, 
you  are  too  prudent.' 

'  Afraid  of  me,  madam  ?'  stammered 
Andree. 

'  Yes,  you  ;  you  who  are  the  terror 
of  all  the  giddy  pated  fellows  about  the 
court.  Oh !  good  heaven  !  how  hap- 
py are  you  to  be  unmarried,  Andree, 
and  above  all  in  feeling  happy  that  you 
are  so.' 

Andree  blushed,  and  'endeavoured  to 
smile. 

4  It  is  a  vow  that  I  have  taken,'  she 
said. 

4  And  which  you  mean  to  observe, 
my  lovely  vestal  ?'  asked  the  Queen. 

'  I  hope  so.' 

'  By-the-by,'  cried  the  Queen,  '  I 
now  recollect.' 

'  What,  your  Majesty  ?' 

'  That,  without  being  married,  you 
have,  nevertheless,  since  yesterday,  a 
master.' 

'  A  master,  madam  ?' 

'  Yes,  your  dear  brother.  What  is  his 
name  ?  Philippe,  I  believe.' 

'  Yes,  madam,  Philippe.' 

4  He  is  arrived  ?' 

4  But  yesterday,  as  your  Majesty  did 
me  the  honor  to  say.' 

'  And  ^ou  have  not  yet  seen  him  ? 
What  an  egotist  I  am.  I  tore  you  from 
him  yesterday  to  take  you  with  me  tp 
Paris.  Really,  that  was  unpardonable.' 

'  Oh  !  madam,'  said  Andree,  '  I  par- 
don you  with  all  my  heart,  and  so  will 
Philippe  too.' 

'Is  that  certain?' 

'  I  will  answer  for  it.' 

'  That  is,  as  to  yourself? 

'  For  myself  and  him  also.'          y 

4  How  is  he  ?' 

'Always  handsome  and  good,  ma- 
dam.' 

'  How  old  is  he  now  ?' 

4  Thirty -two,  madam.' 

4  Poor  Philippe  !  Do  you  know  that 
it  will  soon  be  fourteen  years  that  I 
have  known  him,  and  that  during  those 
fourteen  years,  I  hnve  passed  nine  or 
tenflvithout  seeing  him  ?' 

•  When  your  Majesty  sluill  be  pleased 
tb  receive  him,  he  will  tie  hiippy  to  • 
assure  your  Majesty  that  absence  has 
not  in  any  .wny  diminished  the  feelings 
of  respectful  devotedness  which  he  hus 
.vowed  to  the  Queen.'  ' 

'  Cap  I  see  him  immediately  ?' 

'  In  a  quarter  of  an  hour  he  will  be 
at  your  Majesty's  feet,  if  your  Majesty 
permits  it.' 

4  'Tis  well !  I  permit  it ;  it  is  even 
my  will.' 


MYSTERIES  OF  THE  COURT  OF  LOUIS  XVI. 


The  Queen  had  scarcely  uttered 
these  words,  when  some  one  of  a  lively, 
rapid,  and  noisy  nature  glided,  or  rather 
bounded  over  the  carpet  of  the  dressing 
room,  and  placing  his  head  behind  the 
Queen's,  his  laughing,  mocking  face  was 
reflected  from  the  same  looking-glass 
in  which  Marie  Antoinette  was  smiling 
at  her  own. 

'  My  brother  d'Artois !'  cried  the 
Queen,  '  in  truth,  you  frightened  me.' 

•Good  morning  to  your  Majesty,' 
said  the  young  Prince ;  '  how  has  your 
Majesty  passed  the  night  ?' 

'  Very  badly ;  I  thank  you,    brother.' 

4  And  the  morning  ?' 
_    '  Very  well.' 

0  »  «That  is  the  essential  point.  I  just 
now  thought  that  the  trial  had  fortu- 
nately passed  off,  for  I  met  the  King 
•who  smiled  most  deliciously  at  me. 
What  a  happy  thing  is  confidence.' 

The  Queen  laughed,  the  Connt  d'Ar- 

Atois  who  knew  nothing  further,  laugh- 
ed from  a  very  different  motive. 

'But  now  I  think  of  it,'  said  he, 
•  what  a  hair  brained  fellow  am  I.  1  did 
not  even  question  Mademoiselle  de 
Taverney,  as  to  how  she  had  employed 
her  time.' 

The  Queen  was  looking  in  her  mir- 
ror, thanks  to  which,  nothing  that  hap- 
pened in  the  dressing-room  could  es- 
cape her  notice. 

Leonard  had  just  completed  his  task, 
and  the  Queen,  relieved  from  her  muslin 
dressing-gown,  put  on  a  morning  dress. 

The  door  opened. 

'See  now,'  she  said  to  the  Count  d'- 
Artois, '  if  there  is  any  thing  you  have 
to  ask  Andree,  here  she  is.' 

Andree,  in  fact,  entered  the  room  at 
that  moment,  leading  by  the  hand  a 
handsome  gentleman  of  dark  complex- 
ion, with  black  eyes,  expressive  of  no- 
bleness and  melancholy  ;  a  vigorous  sol- 
dier with  an  intelligent  face,  of  austere 
deportment,  like  to  one  of  those  portraits 
painted  by  Coypel  or  Gainsborough. 

Phillipe  de  Taverney  was  attired  in  a 
dark  grey  coat,  handsomely  embroider- 
ed with  silver,  but  the  grey  was  iilinost 
black,  and  the  silver  seemed  like  iron  ; 
his  white  cravat  and  his  shirt  frill  con- 
traste^i  with  the  dark  colored  waistcoat, 
and  his  hair  being  powdered  gave  a  re- 
lief to  the  manly  enegery  of  his  com- 
plexion and  his  features. 

Philippe  advanced,  one  hand  in  his 
sister's  the  other  holding  his  hat. 

'  Your  Majesty,'  said  Andree  with  a 
respectful  inclination,  '  here  is  my 
brother.' 


Philippe  bowed  gravely  and  slowly. 

When  he  raised  his  head,  the  Queen 
was  still  looking  in  her  glass.  It  is  true 
she  saw  as  plainly  in  her  mirror  as  if  she 
had  looked  directly  at  Philippe. 

'  Good  morning,  Monsieur  de  Taver- 
ney,' said  the  Queen  turning  round. 

Her  beauty  was  of  that  royal  bril- 
liancy that  it  drew  around  her  throne 
the  friends  of  royalty  and  the  adorers 
of  the  woman.  She  had  the  power  of 
beauty,  and,  may  we  be  excused  the  in- 
version of  the  idea,  the  beauty  of  power. 

Philippe  on  seeing  her  smile,  and 
feeling  that  limpid  eye,  at  once  proud 
and  benignant,  fixed  upon  him,  Philippe 
turned  pale,  and  the  agitation  which 
shook  his  frame  was  plainly  percepti- 
ble. 

'  It  appears,  Monsieur  de  Taverney/ 
continued  the  Queen,  '  that  you  have 
devoted  your  first  visit  to  us  ?  We 
thank  you.' 

'  Your  Majesty  deigns  to  forget  that 
it  is  I  who  ought  to  thank  you,'  replied 
Philippe. 

'  How  many  years,'  said  the  Queen, 
'  how  much  time  has  elapsed  since  we 
last  met  ?  Alas  the  best  days  of  our 
life.' 

'  For  me,  yes,  madam ;  but  not  for 
your  Majesty ;  for  all  your  Majesty's 
days  are  happy  ones.' 

'  You  must  have  imbibed  a  great  taste 
for  America,  Monsieur  de  Taverney,  to 
have  remained  there  after  every  one 
else  had  returned. 

'  Madam,'  said  Philippe,  '  M.  de  La- 
fayette, on  leaving  the  new  world,  re- 
quired an  officer  of  confidence  to  whom 
he  could  leave  the  command  of  a  part 
of  the  auxiliaries.  M.  de  Lafayette 
therefore  presented  me  to  General 
Washington  in  that  capacity,  who  was 
plciiscd  to  accept  me. 

'  It  appears  to  me,'  said  the  Queen, 
'  that  a  number  of  great  heroes  are  re- 
turning to  us  from  the  new  world  you 
have  spoken  of.' 

'  It  is  not  in  my  regard  that  your  Ma- 
jesty is  pleased  to  say  that,'  replied 
Philippe  smiling. 

'And  why  not?'  said  the  Queen. 

Then  turning  to   the  Count  d'Artois. 

'  Look  then,  brother,  see  the  martial 
air  and  galltfnt  bearing  of  Monsieur  de 
Taverney.' 

Philippe,  seeing  himself  thus  put  in 
^communication  with  the  Count  d'Ar- 
tois whom  he  did  not  before  know,  ad- 
vanced a  step  towards  him  solicting  the 
Prince  to  allow  him  the  honor  of  mak- 
ing his  bow  to  him. 


60 


THE  QUEEN'S  NECKLACE;  OR,  THE 


^     t 


The  Count  made  a  sign  with  his  hand 
and  Philippe  bowed. 

4  A  fine  officer !'  exclaimed  the  Prince, 
•  a  noble  gentleman,  whose  acquaintance 
I  am  happy  to  make.  With  what  in- 
tentions have  you  returned  to  France  ?' 

Philippe  looked  at  his  sister. 

'  My  lord,  my  interests  are  subjected 
to  those  of  my  sister ;  whatever  she 
wishes  me  to  do,  I  will  do.' 

'  But  I  believe,'  said  the  Count  d'- 
Artois,  '  Monsieur  de  Taverney,  your 
father,  is  still  living.' 

'  That  matters  not,'  said  the  Queen, 
eagerly  interrupting  him;  'I  would 
rather  that  Andree  should  be  under  the 
protection  of  hei*  brother,  and  her 
brother  under  yours,  Count ;  you  will 
therefore  take  charge  of  M.  de  Taver- 
ney. It  is  agreed,  is  it  not  ?' 

The  Count  made  an  assenting  sign. 

'  Do  you  know,'  continued  the  Queen, 
» that  we  are  bound  by  sacred  ties.' 

'  By  sacred  ties ;  you,  my  sister. 
Oh !  tell  me  how  that  can  be,  I  pray 
you.' 

'Yes,  M.  Philippe  de  Taverney  was 
;he  first  Frenchman  whom  my  eyes 
fell  upon  on  entering  France,  and  I 
had  vowed  sincerely  that  I  would  make 
the  fortune  of  the  first  Frenchman  I 
flhould  meet  on  the  French  territory.' 

Philippe  felt  the  blood  rushing  to  his 
forehead  ;  he  bit  his  lips  in  order  to  ap- 
peiir  unconcerned. 

Andree  looked  at  him  and  bent  down 
her  head. 

Marie  Antoinette  caught  the  look  in- 
terchanged between  the  brother  and 
sister.  How  conld  she  have  guessed 
ah1  that  such  a  look  concealed  of  har- 
rowing and  compHcated  secrets.  She 
knew  nothing  of  the  events  we  have 
related  in  the  former  part  of  our  his- 
tory. 

The  apparent  sorrow  which  the 
Queen  had  thus  perceived,  she  attribut- 
ed to  another  cimse.  And  why  mi^ht 
it  not  be,  seeing  that  so  many  persons 
had  fallen  #o  desperately  in  love  with 
her  when  Dauphiness,  ya  1774.  that  M. 
de  Tavorney  had  suffered  a  little  from 
that  epidemic  passion  of  all  Frenchmen 
for  tin  ir  of  Maria  Theresa. 

Therr  was  nothing  to  render  tlii* 
supposition  unlikely,  not  even  the  in- 
spection of  her  glass  which  reminded 
her  of  the  beauty  of  the  young  girl  now 
become  wife  and  mother. 

Mario  Antoinette  therefore  attributed 
Philippe's  sigh  to  some  confidential 
secret  of  this  nature  imparted  to  the 
sister  by  the  brother ;  she  smiled  kind- 


ly at  the  brother,  and  in  the  most  ami- 
able and  affectionate  manner  at  the 
sister.  She  had  not  guessed  rightly  al- 
together, neither  was  she  altogether 
mistaken,  and  let  no  one  imagine  even 
the  shadow  of  criminality  in  this  inno- 
cent coquetry  ;  the  Queen  was  a  wo- 
man in  her  heart.  She  gloried  in  be- 
ing loved.  Certain  souls  are  endowed 
with  an  aspiration,  a  yearning  for  th« 
sympathy  of  all  those,  who  surround 
them.  They  are  not  the  least  gener- 
ons  souls  in  the  world. 

Alas  !  the  moment  will  arrive,  poor 
Queen,  when  that  smile  which  you  are 
reproached  for  bestowing  on  those  who 
love  you,  you  shall  in  vain  address  to 
those  who  no  longer  love  you  ! 

The  Count  d'Artois  approached  Phi- 
lippe and  entered  into  conversation  with 
him  while  the  Queen  consulted  An- 
dree on  the  trimming  of  a  hunting  dress. 

'  Tell  me,  seriously,'  said  the  Count 
d'Artois,  '  is  Mr.  Washington  a  great 
General  ?' 

'  A  great  man,  yes,  my  lord.' 

'  And  what  effect  did  the  French  pro-* 
duce  out  yonder.' 

'  In  good,  the  effect  which  the  En- 
glish produced  in  evil.' 

'  Agreed  ;  you  are  a  partisan  of  the 
new  ideas,  my  dear  Monsieur  Philippe 
de  Tavejney.  But  have  you  well  re- 
flected on  one  thing?' 

'  And  what  is  that,  my  lord  ?  I  will 
acknowledge  to  you  that  when  out 
yonder  on  the  tented  fields,  in  the  Sa- 
vannahs by  the  margin  of  those  great 
lakes,  I  frequently  had  time  to  reflect 
on  many  subjects.' 

'  Well  then  !  on  this  one,  for  exam- 
ple, that  while  making  war  out  yonder,  it 
was  neither  against  the  Indians,  nor  the 
English  that  you  were  waging  it.' 

'  Against  whom  then,  my  lord  ? 

'  Against  us.' 

'  Ah  !  my  lord,  I  will  not  contradict 
you  ;  the  thing  is  very  possible.' 

4  You  acknowledge — ' 

'  I  acknowledge  the  unfortunate  re- 
action of  an  event  which  saved  the 
monarchy.' 

*  Yes,  but  a  reaction  may  be  mortal 
to  those  already  cured  of  the  primitive 
disease.' 

'  Alas  !  my  lord — ' 

'  And,  for  this  reason  it  is  that  I  do 
not  consider  the  victories  of  M.  Wash- 
ington and  the  Marquis  de  Lafayette 
'so  fortunate  as  people  pretend  they 
are.  This  is  egotism,  if  you  will,  but 
you  must  excuse  me  for  it,  for  it  is  not 
egotism  for  myself  alone.' 


MYSTERIES  OF  THE  COURT  OF  LOUIS  XVI. 


61 


'  My  lord,  whatever  may  be  you 
reason  for  so  doing  believe  me,  I  aha 
feel  the  most  lively  gratitude  toward 
your  royal  Highness.' 

'  It  is,  my  denr  Monsieur  de  Taverney 
because  you  are  not  one  of  those  whost 
heroism1  has  been  trumpeted   forth  in 
the  high  ways.     You  have  bravely  per 
formed  your  duty,  but  you  have  not  in 
cessantly  crammed  your  name  inta  the 
trumpet's  mouth.     You  are  not  known 
iff  Paris,   and  therefore   'tis  I  like  you 

'  Oh !  my  lord.' 

'And  do  you  know  why  I  mean  to 
nse  every  effort  ip  your  behalf?' 
Had  it  been  otherwise — upon  my  faith 
— Monsieur  de  Taverney — had  it  been 
otherwise — but  as  I  have  said,  I  am  an 
egotist. 

Whereupon  the  Prince  kissed  the 
Queen's  hand,  bowed  to  Andree  in  a 
more  affable  and  cordial  manner  than 
he  was  woat  to  do  to  the  ladies,  then 
the  door  was  opened  and  he  disappear- 
ed. 

The  Queen,  on  this,  abruptly  broke 
off  the  conversation  she  had  begun  with 
Andree,  and  turning  towards  Philippe 
•aid  to  him, 

'  Have  you  seen  your  father,  sir  ?' 

1  Before  coming  here,  madam,  I 
found  him  in  the  ante-chambers ;  my 
sister  had  sent  to  me.' 

4  Why  did  you  not  go  to  see  your  fa- 
ther, in  the  first  instance  ?' 

*  I  had  sent  my  servant  to  his  house, 
madam,  with  my  slender  baggage ;  but 
Monsieur  de  Taverney  ordered  the  lad 
back  to  me,  desiring  him  to  tell  me  that 
I  should  at  once  present  myself  to  the 
king  or  to  your  majesty.' 

'  And  this  you  obeyed.' 

'  With  delight,  madam,  for  it  gave 
me  the  opportunity  of  embracing  my 
sister.' 

'The  weather  is  magnificent,'  cried 
the  Queen,  with  inexpressible  glee. 
4  Madame  de  Misery,  to-morrow  the  ice 
will  be  melted ;  I  must  have  a  sledge 
instantly.' 

The  first  femme  de  chambre  was 
leavirig  the  room  to  execute  this  order, 
when  the  queen  added, 

1  And  my  chocolate,  here  in  this 
room.' 

'Your  Majesty  will  not  take  your 
breakfest !'  exclaimed  Madame  de  Mis- 
6ry,  '  and  last  night  your  Majesty  did 
not  sup.' 

•  In  that  you  are  much  mistaken,  my 
good  Misery.     We  did  sup  last  night ; 
ask  Mademoiselle  de  Taverney  if  we 
did  not.' 


'And  we  supped  well  too,1  replied 
Andree. 

'  But  that  shall  not  prevent  me  from 
taking  my  chocolate,'  ndded  the  queen. 
'  Quick,  quick,  my  good  Misery ;  this 
beautiful  sunshine  is  positively  enticing. 
There  will  be  quite  a  crowd  on  the 
Swiss  pond.' 

'  Does  your  Majesty  propose  to 
skate  ?'  inquired  Philippe. 

'  Oh  !  you  are  going  to  make  game  of 
us,  M.  American,'  cried  the  queen, 
'  you  who  have  traversed  those  im- 
mense lakes,  upon  which  you  travel 
more  leagues  than  we  can  here  number 
steps.' 

*  Madam,'  replied  Philippe,  '  in  this 
country  your  Majesty  makes  an  amuse- 
ment of  the  frost ;  out  yonder,  they  die 
of  it.' 

1  Ah !  here  is  my  chocolate  ;  Andree, 
you  will  take  a  cup  of  it.' 

Andree  blushed  with  pleasure  and 
bowed. 

You  see,  Monsieur  de  Taverney,  I 
am  still  the  same ;  I  have  as  great  a 
aorror  of  etiquette  as  formerly.  Do 
you  remember  those  bygone  days,  Mon- 
sieur Philippe,  and  are  you  still  un- 
changed ?' 

These  words  struck  deep  into  the 
leart  of  the  young  man.  Frequently 
the  regret  of  a  woman  is  the  blow  of  a 
dagger  to  persons  interested. 

'  No,  madam,'  replied  he  quietly ; 
no,  I  am  not  changed  ;  my  heart  at 
east  is  still  the  same.' 

Then,  if  your  heart  is  still  unchang- 
ed,' said  the  queen  playfully,  '  and  as 
;hat  heart  was  good,  we  will  thank  you 
n  our  own  way.  A  cup  for  M.  de  Tar- 
erney,  Madame  de  Misery.' 

Oh!  madam,'  cried  Philippe,  quite 
confounded, '  your  Majesty  cannot sure- 
y  mean  it ;  such  an  honor  to  a  poor, 
ibscure  soldier  like  myself.' 
'  An  old  friend !'  cried  the  queen, 
and  that  is  all.  This  day  all  the  per- 
ume  of  my  youthful  feelings  is  mount- 
ng  to  my  brain,  for  I  feel  happy,  free, 
>roud,  elated  !  This  day  recalls  to  my 
nind  my  first  happy  hours  in  my  be- 
oved  Trianon,  and  the  mud  pranks  An 
Iree  and  I  used  to  play  there.  This 
!ay  recalls  the  memory  of  my  rosc-s, 
ny  strawberries,  my  vervains  ;  the 
irds  I  used«to  try  to  recognize  in  my 
;irden  walks.  All,  even  to  my  deur 
ardeners,  whose  honest  faces  smiled 
vhen  bringing  me  some  new  flo\v«r  or 
ome  deliciously  flavored  fruit ;  and  M. 
e  Jussieu,  and  that  original  Rousseau, 
who  is  dead.  This  day — I  tell  you  this 


62 


THE  QUEER'S  NECKLACE;  UK,  THE 


day  almost  makes  me  wild  with  joy. 
But  what  is  the  matter  with  you,  Mon- 
sieur Philippe  ?  You  are  pale.' 

The  countenances  of  the  two  young 
people  but  too  well  expressed  the  effect 
of  these  cruel  recollections,  which 
brought  before  them  the  hated  form  of 
Gilbert.  But  both  of  them,  on  hearing 
the  last  words  uttered  by  the  queen, 
recovered  their  self-possession. 

'  I  have  burned  my  mouth  with  the 
chocolate,'  said  Andree,  '  pray  excuse 
me,  madam.' 

'And  as  to  me,  madam,'  said  Philippe, 
'  I  cannot  yet  reconcile  myself  to  the 
idea  of  your  Majesty  honoring  me  as  if 
I  were  one  of  the  first  nobles  of  the 
land.' 

•  Come,  come,'  said  Marie  Antoinette, 
pouring  out  the  chocolate  with  her  own 
hand  into  Philippe's  cup,  '  you  say  you 
are   a  soldier,  and   being  so,  must  be 
well  accustomed  to  an    enemy's  fire ; 
now  burn  yourself  gloriously  with  that 
chocolate,  for  I  have  no  time  to  wait.' 

And  she  laughed  joyously ;  but  Phi- 
lippe took  the  matter  seriously,  as  a 
country  bumpkin  might  have  done,  the 
only  difference  being  that  what  the  lat- 
ter would  have  done  from  mere  confu- 
sion, he  did  from  heroism. 

The  queen  was  observing  him  mi- 
nutely and  her  laughter  redoubled. 

'  You  have  a  character  of  uncommon 
firmness,'  said  she,  rising. 

Her  attendant  had  already  given  her 
a  very  elegant  hat,  an  ermine  cloak  and 
her  gloves.  Andree's  toilet  was  as  ra- 
pidly completed. 

f  Philippe  put  his  hat  under  his  arm 
and  followed  the  Indies. 

•  M  onsieur  de  Taverney,  I  cannot  con- 
sent to  your  leaving  me,'  said  the  queen, 
1  for  it  is  my  intention  to-day,  from  po- 
licy, to  confiscate  an  American.     Come 
on  my  right  hand,  Monsieur  de  Taver- 
ney.' 

Taverney  obeyed;  Andree  went  to 
the  left  of  the  queen. 

*When  the  Queen  descended  the 
grand  staircase,  when  the  drums  beat 
to  arms,  when  the  clarion  of  the  house- 
hold tioops  and  the  clashing  of  their 
arms,  borne  by  the  wind  through  the 
vestibules  and  passages  of  the  palace — 
(his  royal  pomp,  this  respect  from  all, 
the  murmurs  of  adoration  which  rose 
to  the  heart  of  the  queen  and  met  Tav- 
erney as  he  accompanied  her  ;  this  tri- 
umph, we*were  saying,  struck  the 
senses  of  the  young  man  as  it  were 
with  a  vertigo,  his  knees  shook  beneath 
him,  and  but  for  the  strong  current  of! 


cold  aii-  rushing  through  the  widely 
opened  portals,  he  would  inevitably 
have  fainted. 

After  so  many  years  so  mournfully 
spent  in  grief  and  exile,  this  sudden 
return  to  the  great  joys  of  pride  and  of 
the  heart  were  too  overwhelming. 

While  every  one,  as  the  queen, 
sparkling  with,  beauty,  passed  by,  bow- 
ed their  heads  or  presented  arms,  a 
little  old  man,  whose  eagerness  ren- 
dered him  forgetful  of  etiquette,  re- 
mained with  outstretched  neck,  his 
eyes  riveted  upon  the  queen,  instead  of 
bowing  his  head  and  casting  down  his 
eyes. 

When  the  queen  had  passed  on,  and 
the  hedge  of  human  faces  which  had 
surrounded  him  was  beginning  to  break 
up,  the  little  old  man  was  seen  running 
as  fast  as  his  two  little  legs,  which  had 
borne  him  some  seventy-six  years, 
could  carry  him. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THE   SWISS    LAKE. 

EVERT  one  knows  that  long,  square 
piece  of  water,  green  and  parti-colored 
during  the  summer,'  white  and  frothy 
during  the  winter,  which  even  to  our 
days  has  retained  the  name  of  the  Swiss* 
Lake  or  pond. 

An  avenue  of  lime-trees,  joyously 
stretching  forth  their  reddening  branch- 
es in  the  sunshine,  runs  along  each  side  4 
of  the  pond  ;  this  avenue  is  thronged 
with  pedestrians  of  all  ranks  nnd  of  nil 
ages,  who  have  assembled  there  to  en- 
joy the  spectacle  of  sledge-driving  and 
skating. 

The  dress  of  the  women  offers  to  the 
view  that  brilliant  pell-mell  of  rather 
inconvenient  ostentation  of  the  old  court, 
with  the  slightly  capricious  freedom  of 
more  modern  fashions. 

The  high  head-dresses,  with  veils 
casting  a  shadow  over  young  faces, 
bonnets  chiefly  composed  of  stulf,  furred 
cloaks  and  the  vast  fur-belows  on  their 
silk  gowns,  form  a  rather  striking  med- 
ley" with  orange-colored  coats  and  sky- 
blue  surtouts,  yellow  liveries,  and  capa- 
cious white  greatcoats. 

Servants  in  red  nnd  blue  are  pass- 
ing in  and  out  this  throng,  like  so  many 
field  poppies  or  blue-bells  waving  in  the 
wind  among  the  ears  of  corn  or  a  field 
oi'  clover. 

From  time  to  time  a  shout  of  admira- 


MYSTERIES  OF  THE  COURT  OF  LOUIS  XVI. 


63 


tion  escapes  from  the  vast  assemblage ; 
Saint  George,  the  bold  skater,  has  just 
traced  so  perfect  a  circle,  that  a  geome- 
trician, were  he  to  measure  it,  could 
not  find  any  sensible  defect  in  it. 

While  the  margin  of  this  sheet  of 
water  is  covered  with  so  great  a  con- 
course of  persons  that  they  keep  each 
other  warm  by  their  mere  contact,  and 
present  from  afar  the  appearance  of  a 
richly  variegated  carpet,  above  which  is 
suspended  a  vaporous  cloud,  being  their 
breath,  which  the  frost  condenses,  the 
sheet  of  water  itself,  smooth  as  a  mir- 
ror, though  congealed,  presents  an  or- 
namented, and  aBove  all  a  very  moving 
spectacle. 

Here  a  sledge  drawn  by  three  enor- 
mous bloodhounds,  harnessed  like  Rus- 
sian Troikas,  is  flying  along  the  ice. 
The  dogs,  caparisoned  with  velvet,  rich- 
ly emblazoned  with  armorial  bearings, 
their  heads  adorned  with  flowing 
plumes,  somewhat  resemble  those  chi- 
merical animals  which  are  seen  in  the 
extravagant  drawings  of  Callot  or  the 
witcheries  of  Goya. 

Their  master,  the  Duke  de  Lauzun, 
carelessly  lolling  in  his  sledge,  well 
lined  with  tiger-skins,  leans  on  one 
side,  in  order  to  breathe  more  freely 
than  he  could  do  if  placing  himself  in 
full  contact  with  che  piercing  wind. 

Here  and  there  a  few  sledges  of  less 
assuming  appearance,  seem  to  be  seek- 
ing a  more  retired  spot ;  a  lady,  wear- 
ing a  mask,  doubtless  to  protect  her 
delicate  skin  from  the  cold,  is  seated  in 
one  of  these  sledges  ;  while  a  handsome 
skater,  wearing  a  velvet  greatcoat  with 
gold  frogs  and  buttons,  is  leaning  over 
the  back  of  it,  to  give  a  more  rapid  im- 
pulsion to  the  sledge  which  he  at  the 
same  time  pushes  and  directs. 

The  conversation  which  takes  place 
between  the  masked  lady  and  the  hand- 
some skater  is  carried  on  in  whispers, 
and  no  one  would  ever  think  of  blaming 
their  rendezvous  under  the  canopy  of 
heaven  and  in  full  sight  of  all  Versailles. 

Of  what  importance  can  their  con- 
versation be  to  others,  since  they  are 
seen ;  and  what  care  they  for  bfling 
seen,  since  they  cannot  be  heard?  alt 
is  evident  that  although  in  the  midst  of 
a  gay  and  busy  throng,  they  are  com- 
pletely isolated  ;  they  pass  through  the 
throng  like  migratory  birds.  Where 
go  they  ?  To  that  unknown  world 
'which  every  soul  is  in  search  of,  and 
which  is  called  Happiness.  Suddenly, 
amid  all  these  sylphs,  who  may  be  said 
to  glide  rather  than  to  walk,  is  observed 


an  eager  movement;  a  tumultuous  sound 
is  heard. 

The  queen  had  just  made  her  ap- 
peavance  on  .the  side  of  the  lake  ;  she 
was  immediately  recognized,  and  the 
skaters  and  sledge-drivers  were  about 
to  withdraw  from  the  ice,  to  leave  it 
for  her  sole  use,  when  she  made  signs 
to  the  whole  of  them  to  remain.  The 
cry  of  '  Long  live  the  Queen'  resounded 
on  every  side,  and  then,  animated  by 
this  permission,  the  skaters  and  sledge- 
drivers,  flying  around  with  electrical 
rapidity,  formed  circles  about  the  spot 
where  the  august  visitor  had  placed 
herself.  Every  eye  was  fixed  upon  j| 
her. 

The  men  drew  near  to  hear  by  skil- 
ful manoeuvres.  The  women  arranged 
their  dresses  with  respectful  decency  ; 
in  fact,  all  found  some  means  of  ming- 
ling almost  with  the  group  of  noble- 
men and  great  officers  of  the  crown, 
who  hastened  forward  to  offer  their 
homage  to  the  queen. 

Among  the  principal  personages  that 
the  public  had  re  marked,  there  was  one 
of  high  distinction,  who,  instead  of  fol- 
lowing the  general  impulse  and  pre- 
senting himself  to  the  queen,  as  soon 
as  he  had  recognized  her  and  her  suite, 
leaped  from  his  sledge  and  hurried  into 
a  side-walk,  by  which  he  disappeared, 
together  with  the  persons  of  his  suite. 

The  Count  d'Artois,  who  had  been 
observed  as  one  of  the  most  elegant  and 
most  active  of  the  skaters,  was  not  the 
last  to  hasten  towards  his  sister-in-law, 
on  her  arrival,  and  to  kiss  her  hand. 

Then,  while  kissing  her  hand,  he  said 
to  her  in  a  whisper, 

'  Do  you  observe  how  our  brother- 
in-law,  Monsieur  de  Provence,  avoids 
you  ?' 

And  saying  these  words,  he  pointed 
with  his  finger  to  his  royal  highness,  .  \ 
who  with  rapid  strides  was  walking 
through  a  thicket  still  covered  with 
hoar-frost,  in  order  to  regain  his  car- 
riage.. 

4  He  does  not  wish  to  hear  me  re- 
proach him,'  said  the  queen. 

4  Oh !  as  to  those  reproaches,  that  is 
my  affair,  and  it  is  not  on  that  account 
he  fears  you.' 

'  It  is  his  conscience,  then,  that  up- 
braids him,*  gravely  said  ths  queen.  • 

'  Something  more  than  that,  my  sis- 
ter.' 

4  What  can  it  be,  then  ?' 

'I  will  tell  you.  He  has  just  been 
informed  that  M.  de  Suffren,  the  glori- 
ous conqueror,  is  to  arrive  to-night; 


THE  QUEEN'S  NECKLACE;  OR,  THE 


and,  as  the  news  is  important,  he  wishes 
to  leave  you  iu  ignorance  of  it.' 

The  queen  saw  .there  was  around 
them  some  inquisitive  persons,  whose 
respect  had  not  induced  them  to  keep 
their  ears  at  such  a  distance  as  not  to 
allow  them  to  overhear  her  conversa- 
tion with  her  brother-in-law. 

'  Monsieur  de  Taverney,'  said  she, 
'  will  you  be  kind  enough  to  see  that 
'my  sledge  be  at  once  brought  here ; 
and  if  your  father  is  there,  go  and  em- 
brace him ;  I  give  you  a  respite  of  a 
quarter  of  an  hour.' 

The  young  man  bowed  and  passed 
'through  the  crowd  to  execute  the 
queen's  order. 

The  crowd  had  also  understood,  for 
it  has  sometimes  a  marvellous  instinct; 
and,  in  consequence,  the  circle  was  im- 
mediately enlarged,  and  the  queen  and 
the  Count  d'Artois  were  left  more  at 
their  ease. 

'  Brother,1  then  said  the  queen,  '  I 
beg  you  will  explain  what  M.  de  Prov- 
ence can  gain  by  not  informing  me  of 
the  arrival  of  M.  de  Suffren.' 

'  Ah !  sister,  can  it  be  possible  that 
you,  a  woman,  a  queen,  and  an  enemy, 
you  do  not  immediately  see  the  drift  of 
this  cunning  politician.  M.  de  Suffren 
arrives,  no  one  in  the  court  knows  a 
word  about  the  matter  ;  M.  de  Suffren 
is  the  hero  of  the  Indian  seas,  and,  in 
consequence,  is  entitled  to  a  magnifi- 
cent reception  at  Versailles.  Well,  M. 
de  Suffren  arrives;  the  king  is  not 
aware  of  his  arrival ;  the  king  neglects 
him  without  knowing,  and  consequently 
without  intending,  it ;  you  do  the  same, 
my  sister,  while  during  this  time  M.  de 
Provence,  who  knows  of  the  arrival  of 
M.  de  Suffren,  welcomes  the  admiral, 
smiles  upon  him,  writes  verses  in  his 
praise,  and  thus  attaching  himself  to 
the  hero  of  the  Indies,  becomes  the 
hero  of  France.' 

'  That  is  clear,'  said  the  Queen. 

4  Assuredly  !'  cried  the  Count. 

4  There  is  but  one  point  you  have  for- 
gotten, my  dear  newsmonger.' 

'  And  what  is  that?' 

*  The  way  in  which  you  became  in- 
formed of  this  fine  project  of  our  dear 
brother  and  brother-in-law.' 

'  How  I  discovered  it !  As  I  discover 
all  he  does  ;  a  very  simple  iftTair.  Hav- 
ing perceived  that  M.  de  Provence 
makes  a  point  of  knowing  all  1  do,  I 
have  people  whom  I  pay  to  inform  me 
of  all  his  movements.  And  this  may 
be  useful  to  me,  and  to  you  also,  dear 
•later.' 


'  Many  thanks  for  your  alliance,  deal 
brother  ;  but  the  King  ?'-      - 
'  Oh !  the  King  is  forewarned.' 
'By  you?' 

'  Oh  !  by  no  means  ;  but  by  his  minis- 
ter of  marine,  whom  I  sent  to  him. 
Such  matters  do  not  regard  me  ;  I  am 
too  frivolous,  too  much  of  a  spendthrift, 
too  wild  to  occupy  myself  with  matters 
of  so  serioua  a  nature.' 

'  And  was  the  minister  of  marine 
also  ignorant  of  the  arrival  of  M.  de 
Suffren  in  France  ?' 

'  Why,  good  heaven,  sister,  you  have 
known  ministers  enough  during  the  last 
fourteen  years  that  you  have  been 
Dauphiness  or  Queen  of  France,  to  be 
well  convinced  that  they  are  most  ignor 
ant  of  those  matters  that  it  imports  them 
most  to  know.  Well,  then  !  I  gave  this 
information  to  our  friend,  and  he  was 
perfectly  enthusiastic  in  his  thanks.' 

'  I  can  well  believe  it.' 

'  You  will  readily  understand,  dear 
sister,  that  this  man  will  be  gratefuJ..to 
me  all  his  life,  and  just  at  this  moment 
I  stand  in  need  of  bis  gratitude.' 

'And  for  what  ?' 

'  To  negotiate  a  Joan  for  me.' 

'  Oh !'  cried  the  queen,  laughing, 
'  now  all  the  merit  of  your  good  action 
is  destroyed.' 

'  Sister,'  said  the  Count  d'Artois,  af- 
fecting a  grave  air,  '  you  will  soon  be  in 
want  of  money  ;  and  by  the  honor  of  a 
son  of  France,  I  will  place  at  your 
disposal  one-half  of  the  sum  I  shall 
receive.' 

'  Oh !  my  brother,'  exclaimed  Marie 
Antoinette,  '  keep  it,  keep  it.  Thank 
heaven !  I  am  not  at  this  moment  in 
want  of  money.' 

The  deuse  !  you  must  not  wait  too 
long  before  you  claim  the  performance 
of  my  promise,  sister.' 

'  And  for  what  reason  ?' 

'  Because  it  might  happen,  should 
you  delay  too  long,  I  should  no  longer 
be  able  to  perform  it.' 

'  Well,  then,  should  that  be  the  case, 
I  must  aiso  arrange  matters  in  such  a 
way  as  to  discover  some  state  secret.' 

'  Sister,  you  are  getting  cold,'  said 
the  prince,  'your  cheeks  are  turning 
blue.' 

'Oh!  here  is  M.  de  Taveruey  re- 
turning with  my  sledge.' 

'  Then,  you  have  no  longer  need  of 
me  .'' 

'No.' 

'  In  that  case,  order  me  off,  I  beg  of 
you.' 

'And  why  so?     Do  you  imagine, 


MYSTERIES  OF  THE  COURT  OK  LOUIS  XVI. 


65 


perchance,  that  you  inconvenience  me 
in  the  slightest  degree  ?' 

'  By  no  ineuns ;  it  is  I,  on  the  con- 
trary, who  require  to  be  at  liberty.' 

•Adieu,  thon.' 

1  Till  we  meet  again,  dear  sister.' 

'When?' 

1  This  evening.' 

4  What  is  going  forward,  then,  this 
evening  ?' 

'There  will  be  a  numerous  assem- 
blage at  the  king's  card  party.' 

'  And  for  what  reason  ?' 

'  Because  the  minister  will  this  even- 
ing bring  M.  de  SufFren  there.' 

'  Very  well.   Till  this  evening,  then.' 

Upon  which  the  prince  bowed  to  the 
queen,  with  that  charming  courtesy 
which  was  natural  to  him,  and  disap- 
peared among  the  crowd. 

The  elder  Taverney  had  followed  his 
son  with  his  eyes,  while  he  retired 
from  the  queen's  presence  to  order  her 
sledge.  But  his  scrutinizing  gaze  was, 
after  a  feV  seconds,  again  fixed  upon 
the  queen. 

The  animated  conversation  of  Marie 
Antoinette  with  her  brother-in-law, 
could  not  but  cause  him  some  degree 
of  uneasiness,  for  that  conversation  ap- 
peared to  him  to  militate  against  the  fa- 
miliarity which  the  queen  had  but  just 
before  evinced  towards  his  son. 

And  therefore  was  it  that  on  Phi- 
lippe's return,  when  lie  had  concluded 
the  necessary  preparations  with  regard 
to  the  sledge,  the  young  man  wishing, 
in  obedience  to  the  queen's  intimation, 
to  embrace  his  father,  whom  he  had 
uot  seen  for  ten  years,  he  limited  him- 
self to  a  mere  friendly  gesture,  waving 
him  off  with  his  hand,  and  saying, 

'  By-and-by,  by-and-by;  come  back 
after  your  duty  is  performed,  and  then 
we  will  talk  together.' 

Philippe  therefore  left  him,  and  the 
baron  perceived  with  delight  that  the 
prince  had  taken  leave  of  the  queen. 

The  latter  then  got  into  the  sledge, 
and  made  Andree  get  into  it  with  her ; 
and,  as  two  tall  heiduques  presented 
themselves  and  were  about  to  place 
themselves  behind  the  sledge  to  push  it 
forward, 

4  No,  no,'  cried  the  queen,  '  I  do  not 
wish  to  travel  in  that  manner.  Do  you 
not  skate,  Monsieur  de  Taverney  ?' 

4 1  beg  your  pardon,  madam,'  replied 
Philippe,  '  I  do.' 

4  Give  some  skates  to  the  chevalier,' 
ordered  the  queen. 

Then  turning  towards  him,  she  added, 

4 1  know  not  why  it  is,  but  I  have  ;m 
9 


idea  that  you  can  skate  as  well  us  Saint  • 
George.' 

'  In  former  times,'  snid  Andree,  4Phi- 
lippe  skated  with  much  elegance.' 

4  And  now,  you  will  not  even  ac- 
knowledge that  you  have  a  rival,  is  it 
not  so,  Monsieur  de  Taverney.' 

4  Madame,'  replied  Philippe,  4  since 
your  Majesty  has  such  confidence  in 
me,  I  will  do  my  best.' 

While  saying  these  words,  Philippe 
had  already  buckled  on  a  pair  of  skates, 
cutting,  and  slender  as  sword  blades. 

He  placed  himself  behind  the  sledge, 
impelled  it  wi  h  one  hand,  and  thus  be- 
gan the  drive. 

There  was  then  seen  a  curious  spec- 
tacle. 

Saint  Georges,  the  king  of  gymnastic 
performers,  Saint  Georges,  the  elegant 
mulatto,  the  man  most  in  fashion  of 
those  days,  the  man  superior  to  all  oth- 
ers in  all  bodily  exercises,  Saint  Georges 
surmised  he  had  found  a  rival  in  the 
young  man  who  dared  to  compete  with 
him  on  this  his  own  peculiar  domain. 

And  he  therefore  .instantly  began  by 
flying  around  the  Queen's  sledge,  with 
such  respectful  and  such  elegant  salu- 
tations, that  no  courtier  upon  the  solid 
floors  of  Versailles  palace  could  have 
executed  such  seducing  or  such  grace- 
ful ones,  He  described  around  the 
sledge  the  most  rapid  and  at  the  same 
time  the  most  perfect  circles,  interven- 
ing them  by  a  succession  of  rings,  mar- 
vellously melting  one  into  the  other  and 
in  such  a  manner  that  each  new  curve 
always  preceded  the  arrival  of  the 
sledge,  which,  then  leaving  him  be- 
hind, he  with  a  vigerous  stroke  of  hia 
skate,  regained  by  the  ellipsis  that 
which  he  had  lost  by  the  circumfer- 
ence. 

No  one  could  even  follow  this  manoeu- 
vre with  their  eyes  without  being  gid- 
dy, dazzled,  struck  with  wonder. 

Philippe,  becoming  excited  by  these 
feats,  and  resolved  to  outdo  them,  adopt- 
ed a  measure  of  exceeding  boldness, 
he  pushed  forward  the  sledge  with  such 
terrible  rapidity,  that  twice  Saint 
Georges  instead  of  being  in  advance 
completed  his  circle  behind  him ;  but 
as  the  velocity  of  the  sledge  caused 
many  of  the  spectators  to  utter  cries  of 
terror  which*  might  alarm  the  Queen, 
Philippe  snid. 

'  If  her  Majesty  desires  it  1  will  stop, 
or  at  all  events  slacken  my  pace.' 

4  Oh !  no,  no,'  cried  the  Queen  with 
I  that  impetuous  ardor  natural  to  her  in 
i  all  things,  whether  of  business  or  of 


66 


THE  QUEEN'S  NECKLACE;  OR,  THE 


pleasure  ;  •  no,  no,  I  am  not  alarmed. 
Faster,  if  you  can,  chevalier,  faster !' 

•  Oh  !  so  much  the  better.  Thanks 
for  the  permission  -;  I  hold  you  firmly, 
you  may  rely  on  me.' 

And  his  robust  hand  clutched  the 
sledge  still  more  firmly,  giving  it  such 
an  additional  impetus  that  it  fairly 
trembled. 

It  might  have  been  thought  that  he 
had  raised  it  with  his  extended  arm. 

Then  placing  his  other  hand  upon  the 
sledge  which  he  had  before  disdained 
to  use,  he  launched  forward  the  sledge, 
which  seemed  but  a  plaything  in  his 
iron  grasp. 

From  that  moment  he  crossed  every 
one  of  the  circles  made  by  Saint  Georges, 
by  larger  circles  still,  so  that  the  sledge 
seemed  to  move  like  the  most  supple 
man,  turning  and  returning  on  its  whole 
length,  as  if  it  had  been  as  flexible  as 
the  slight  soles  on  which  Saint  George 
was  gliding  over  the  ice.  Despite  its 
weight,  despite  its  length,  the  Queen's 
sledge  had  become  a  skate.  It  turned, 
it  flew,  it  pirouetted  like  a  dancer. 

Saint  Georges,  more  graceful,  more 
delicate,  more  correct  in  his  serpentine 
figures,  began  to  feel  alarmed  ;  he  had 
already  been  skating  nearly  a  whole 
hour.  Philippe  seeing  tliat  the  per- 
spiration was  streaming  from  him,  and 
observing  the  efforts  of  his  trembling 
knees,  determined  on  overcoming  him 
at  once  by  fatigue. 

He  therefore  changed  his  mode  of 
action,  and  abandoning  the  circles  which 
obliged  him  to  raise  the  sledge  by  main 
force,  he  impelled  it  forward  in 
a  straight  line. 

The  sledge  flew  forward  more  rapid- 
ly than  an  arrow. 

Saint  Georges,  with  a  single  effort 
could  have  easily  caught  up  with  it,  but 
Philippe  had  seized  the  moment  when 
the  second  impulsion  multiplies  the  ve- 
locity of  the  first,  he  therefore  pushed 
the  sledge  over  a  new  layer  of  ice 
smooth  as  glass  itself,  and  it  was  with 
such  a  force  that  he  himself  remained 
/.  behind. 

Saint  Georges  then  rushed  forward 
to  catch  the  sledge.  But  Philippe  mus- 
tering all  his  strength,  glided  along  so 
quickly  on  the  extreme  edge  of  his  skate 
that  he  passed  before  Saint  Georges 
and  placed  both  his  hands  on  the  back 
of  the  sledge.  Then  by  an  herculean 
effort  he  turned  the  sledge  compli -trly 
round  in  the  Opposite  direction,  while 
Saint  Georges  carried  u  \vny  by  the  im- 
mense effort  he  had  made,  not  being 


able  to  restrain  his  course  and  losing 
an  irrecoverable  space,  remained  com- 
pletely distanced. 

The  air  resounded  with  such  shouts 
and  aclammations  that  Philippe  blushed 
with  confusion. 

But  he  was  greatly  surprised  when 
the  Queen  after  having  clapped  her 
hands  with  excitement  and  delight, 
turned  towards  him  and  with  the  tone 
of  most  voluptuous  expression,  said  to 
him. 

'  !  Monsieur  de  Taverirey,  now  that 
you  have  gained  the  victory,  mercy ! 
mercy  !  you  would  kill  me.' 


CHAPTER  X. 

»    THE      TEMPLE. 

PHILIPPE  on  hearing  this  order  or 
rather  the  entreaty  of  the  Queen,  knit- 
ted his  iron  nerves,  fixed  his  heels  firm- 
ly in  the  ice,  and  the  sledge  stopped 
short,  like  an  Arabian  horse  when 
thrown  trembling  upon  its  haunches  up- 
on the  sandy  desert  by  the  powerful 
hands  of  its  skilful  rider. 

'  Oh !  now  pray  rest  yourself,'  said 
the  Queen  alighting  from  the  sledge, 
trembling  with  excitement.  '  I  really 
could  never  have  believed  that  there 
could  be  such  an  intoxication  in  rapidity 
You  have  nearly  driven  me  mad.' 

And  still  tottering  with  emotion,  she 
leaned  on  Philippe's  arm  for  support. 

A  shudder  of  stupefaction  which  ran 
through  all  this  crowd  of  gilt-laced  and 
decorated  courtiers,  warned  her  that 
she  had  once  more  been  guilty  of  one 
of  those  breaches  of  etiquette,  so  enor- 
mously culpable  in  the  eyes  of  the  en- 
vious and  the  servile. 

As  to  Philippe,  completely  astounded 
by  this  excess  of  honor,  he  trembled 
more  and  felt  more  abashed  than  if  his 
sovereign  had  publicly  insulted  him. 
He  cast  down  his  eyes ;  his  heart  beat 
as  though  it  would  burst  from  his  bo- 
som. 

A  singular  emotion,  arising  doubtless 
from  the  rapid  race,  also  agitated  the 
Queen,  for  she  immediately  withdrew 
her  arm  and  took  that  of  Mademoiselle 
de  Taverney,  asking  for  a  seat. 

A  camp-chair  was  instantly  handed 
to  her. 

'  Excuse  me,  Monsieur  de  Taverney,' 
she  said,  and  then  continued  abruptly, 
but  in  a  half  whisper,  'Good  heavens  ! 
what  a  misfortune  it  is  to  be  continual- 


MYSTERIES  OF  THE  COURT  OF  LOUIS  XVI. 


67 


ty  surrounded  by  prying  persons  and 
simpletons !' 

The  gentlemen  in  waiting  and  the 
ladies  of  honor  had  approached  her,  and 
were  devouring  Philippe  with  their 
eyes,  who  to  conceal  his  blushes  and 
confusion  ,  was  unbuckling  his  skates. 

Having  taken  off  his  skates,  Philippe 
retired  to  make  room  for  the  courtiers. 

The  Queen  remained  pensive  for 
Borne  moments.  Then  raisingher  head, 

4  Oh !  I  feel  I  shall  catch  cold  if  I  re- 
main here  motionless,'  she  said,  '  I  must 
take  another  turn.' 

And  she  again  got  into  the  sledge. 

Philippe  awaited,  but  uselessly,  an 
order. 

Then  twenty  gentlemen  hastened 
forward  to  offer  their  services. 

4  No,  my  heiduques,'  she'  said,  '  I 
thank  you,  gentlemen.' 

4  Go  gently,'  she  said,  '  go  gently.' 

And  closing  her  eyes,  she  appeared 
to  be  indulging  in  meditation. 

The  sledge  moved  off  slowly  as  the 
Queen  had  ordered,  followed  by  eager, 
inquisitive,  or  envious  crowds. 

Philippe  remained  alone  wiping  from 
his  forehead  the  perspiration  which  was 
streaming  from  it. 

He  was  looking  in  every  direction 
for  Saint  George  to  say  something  con- 
soling as  to  his  defeat,  by  paying  him 
some  pleasing  coraplimentt  on  his  skill. 
But  the  latter  had  received  a  message 
from  his  protector,  the  Duke  of  Orleans, 
and  had  left  the  field  of  battle. 

Philippe,  who  was  rather  sorrowful, 
a  little  fatigued,  and  almost  alarmed  at 
what  had  taken  place,  had  remained 
motionless  on  the  spot,  and  was  going 
after  the  Queen's  sledge  as  it  moved 
away,  when  he  felt  something  strike 
him  in  the  side. 

He  turned  round  and  saw  his  father 
standing  by  him. 

The  little  old  man,  shrivelled  up  like 
one  of  Hoffman's  figures,  enveloped  in 
furs  like  a  Samoyede,  had  given  his 
son  a  nudge  with  his  elbow  in  order 
not  to  be  obliged  to  withdraw  his  hands 
from  his  muff. 

His  eyes,  dilated  by  the  cold  or  by  a 
sudden  gladness  appeared  to  Philippe 
to  dart  fire. 

'  Will  you  not  embrace  me,  my  son  ?' 
said  he,  and  he  pronounced  these 
words  in  the  tone  which  the  father  of  a 
Grecian  athlete  would  have  used  when 
thanking  his  son  for  the  victory  he  had 
gained  in  the  circus. 

'My  dear  father,  with  all  my  heart,' 
replied  Philippe. 


Bat  it  could  plainly  have  been  per- 
ceived that  there  was  no  harmony  be- 
tween the  accentuation  of  these  words 
and  their  literal  meaning. 

4  There,  there,  that  will  do  ;  and  now 
that  you  have  embraced  me,  go,  go, 
quickly. 

And  he  pushed  him  forward. 

4  But  where  is  it  you  would  have  me 
to  go  ?'  inquired  Philippe. 

4  Why  yonder,  to  be  sure.' 

•  Yonder.'  ,  » 
4  Yes,  after  the  Queen.' 

4  Oh !  no  my  father,  no,  I  thank  yon.' 

4  What  do  you  mean  by  no,  what  do 
you  mean  by,  no,  I  thank  you  ?  Are 
you  mad ;  you  do  not  wish  to  rejoin  the 
Queen?' 

4  Why  no,  it  is  impossible  ;  you  can- 
not think  of  it,  my  dear  father.' 

4  How  !  impossible  to  go  and  rejoin 
the  Queen  who  is  expecting  you  ?' 

'  Who  is  expecting  me  ?' 

4  Why,  yes,  yes,  the  Queen  who  de- 
sires to  see  you,' 

4  Desires  to  see  me  ?' 

And  Taverney  looked  fixedly  at  hia 
father. 

4  In  truth,  my  father,'  said  he  coldly, 
4 1  believe  you  are  forgetting  yourself.' 

4  He  is  astonishing !  upon  my  word 
of  honor,'  said  the  old  man  drawing 
himself  up  and  stamping  his  foot. 
4  Zounds  Philippe,  do  me  the  pleasure 
to  tell  me  whence  you  come.' 

4  Sir,'  said  the  chavelier  mournfully, 
4 1  am  in  truth  afraid  to  be  convinced 
of  one  thing.' 

•  And  what  is  that  ?' 

•  That  you  are  pleased  to  make  game 
of  me  or — ' 

4  Or  what  ?' 

4  Nay  pardon  me,  my  father,  or  that 
you  are  going  mad.' 

The  old  man  seized  his  son's  arm 
with  so  violent  and  energetic  a  grasp 
that  the  young  man  knit  his  brow  with 
pain. 

4  Listen  to  me,  Monsieur  Philippe,' 
said  he.  'America  is  I  know  a  country 
situated  at  a  great  distance  from. 
i  France.' 

4  Yes,  my  father,  at  a  very  great  dia- 
i  tance,'  repeated  Philippe,  4  but  I  do  not. 
comprehend  what  you  mean  to  imply. 
j  Explain  yourself,  I  beg.' 

'  A  country  where  there  is  neither 
king  nor  queen.' 

4  Nor  subjects.' 

4  Oh  !  very  well ! — nor  subjects,  my 

good  Mr.  Philosopher.     I  do  not  deny 

that.     That  is  not  a  point  which  inter- 

.  ests  me  in  any  way,  but  altogether  in- 


THE  QUEEN'S  NECKLACE:    OR,  THE 


drffbvent  ;  there  is,  however,  otte  thing 
wlrieh  rs  not  indifferent  to  me,  which 
gives  ine  pnin,  which  humiliates  me ; 
and  that  is,  that  I  also  nm  afraid  of  be- 
ing convinced  of  one  thing.' 

'  And  what  is  that,  my  father  ?  At 
all  events,  I  feel  persuaded  that  our 
convictions  differ  completely  from  each 
tfttier.' 

'  Mine  is  that  you  are  a  ninny,  my 
son,  and  that  is  hardly  to  be  allowed  in 
a  tall  fellow  with  such  a  shape  as  you 
have.  Look  then,  only  look  down  yon- 
der.' 

'  [  see,  sir,' 

1  Well !  the  queen  is  turning  round, 
and  it  is  for  the  third  time.  Yes,  sir, 
the  queen  has  turned  round  three  times. 
And  see  now,  she  is  turning  round 
again ;  and  who  is  she  looking  for — Mr. 
Simpleton,  M.  Puritan,  M.  American — 
Oh!'— 

And  the  little  old  man  bit  his  doeskin 
glove,  not  with  his  teeth,  for  he  had 
none  left,  but  with  his  gums,  in  a  par- 
oxysm of  rage  ;  the  grey  doeskin  glove 
would  have  contained  two  such  wither- 
ed hands  as  his. 

4  Well,  sir,'  said  the  young  man,  «  and 
eten  if  this  were  true,  and  which  prob- 
ably it  is  not ;  supposing  that  the  queen 
Were  seeking  me.' 

'Oh!'  cried -the  old  man,  stamping 
^"Mi  rnge,  'h*  has  said  supposing  it 
were  true  !  Why,  this  man  cannot  be 
of  my  blood  ;  this  man  cannot  be  a  Tuv- 
etfley  ?' 

'  I  am  not  of  your  blood  !'  muttered 
Philippe,  and  then  in  a  whisper  to  him- 
self, he  added,  with  his  eyes  raised  to 
heaven, 

'  Ought  I  not  to  thank  God  for  it, 
Wete  It  so.' 

'  Sir,'  said  the  old  man,  ' I  tell  you 
that  the  queen  wants  you — that  the 
queen  is  searching  for  you.' 

'  Your  eyesight  is  good,  my  father,' 
said  Philippe  drily. 

'  Come,  now,'  said  the  old  man  in  a 
gtetitler  tone,  and  endeavoring  to  re- 
strain his  own  impatience,  'come,  now, 
let  me  explain  to  you  : — 'Tis  true,  you 
may  have  your  reasons ;  but  I,  on  the 
ether  side,  have  great  experience. 
Come  now,  tell  me,  Philippe,  are  yon 
or  are  you  not  a  man  ?' 

Philippe  slightly  shrugged  his  shoul- 
ders, but  made  no  reply. 

The  old  man  seeing  it  was  in  vain  to 
wait  for  ;tn  answer,  ventured,  more 
from  contempi  than  any  other  feeling, 
to  fix  hi-  ;ii=  <=on  ;  and  it  was 

then1  he  observed  ail  tiif  dignity,  all  the 


impenetrable  reserve,  all  the  itiexplica- 
ble  will  with  which  his  features  were* 
imprinted. 

He  restrained  his  vexation,  pressed 
his  muff  to  his  red  nose,  and  in  a  voice 
soft  HS  that  with  which  Orpheus  ad- 
dressed the  Thessalian  rocks, 

'  Philippe,  my  friend,'  said  he,  <  now 
listen  to  me.' 

'  Why,  it  appears  to  me,  father,'  re- 
plied the  young  man,  '  that  I  have  been 
doing  nothing  else  for  the  last  qunrtei 
of  an  hour.' 

'  Oh  !'  thought  the  old  man,  '  I  wiH 
soon  tumble  you  down  from  the  height 
of  your  majesty,  Mr.  American.  You 
have  your  weak  side,  Colossus  as  you 
are.  Let  me  only  clutch  that  weak 
side  with  my  old  claws,  and  you  wiP 
see.' 

Then,  addressing  him  aloud  : 

'  There  is  one  thing  which  you  have 
not  perceived,'  said  he. 

'  And  what  is  that  ?' 

'  A  thing  which  does  great  honor  to 
your  ingenuousness.' 

'  Well,  sir,  say  on.' 

'  It  is  quite  natural,  you  arrive  from 
America;  when  you  left  this,  there 
was  but  a  King  and  no  Queen  here, 
with  the  exception  of  Dubarry,  a  not 
very  respectable  majesty.  You  return ; 
you  find  a  Queen  here  and  you  say  t* 
yourself,  she  must  be  respected.' 

*  Undoubtedly.' 

'  Poor  child !'  cried  the  old  man  con^ 
temptuously,  and  with  his  muff  endea- 
vored to  stifle  a  coughing  fit,  and  an  out- 
burst of  laughter. 

'  How ."  cried  Philippe,  '  you  pity  me 
because  I  respect  royalty ;  yon,  a  Tav- 
erney,  Maison  Rouge,  you  the  head  of 
one  of  the  most  ancient  families  of 
France.' 

•  Be  not  so  hasty  ;  I   said  not  a  word 
of  royalty,  1  was  speaking  to  you  of  the 
Queen.' 

'  And  you  make  a  distinction  between 
them  ?' 

4  Yes,  by  heavens  !  what  is  royalty  ? 
a  crown.  The  deuse !  We  must  not 
touch  that.  What  is  the  Queen  ?  A 
woman  ;  and  a  woman  is  a  very  differ- 
ent matter,  you  may  touch  her.' 

1  You  may  touch  her  ?'  cried  Philippe, 
blushing  at  once  with  anger  and  indig- 
nation, and  accompanying  these  words 
with  so  superb  a  gesture,  that  no  wo- 
man would  have  seen  it  without  loving 
him.  no  Queen  without  adoring  him. 

'  You  do  not  believe  a  word  of  it,  oh  ! 
no.  Well  then,'  continued  the  old  man 
with  a  vile  and  almost  a  savage  ticcoDt, 


MYSTERIES  OF  THE  COURT  OF  LOUIS  XVI. 


80  cynical  was  his  derision,  4  ask  M.  de 
Coigny,  M.  de  Lauzun,  M.  de  Van- 
dreuil.' 

4  SUence !  silence  !  my  father,'  cried 
Philippe  in  a  low  tone,  '  or,  for  those 
three  blasphemies,  as  I  cannot  strike 
you  three  times  with  my  sword,  I  swear 
to  you  that  I  will  pierce  my  own  body 
with  it  and  that  instantly.' 

Old  Taverney  started  back,  shaking 
his  muff  angrily  at  Philippe,  and  whirl- 
ing round  on  his  heel, 

4 Oh!  in  plain  truth  the  animal  is 
stupid,'  exclaimed  he,  'the  horse  is  but 
an  ass,  the  eagle  but  a  goose,  the  cock 
a  capon.  Good  day !  you  have  much 
amused  me.  I  thought  myself  the  an- 
cestor, vthe  Cassandra,  and  I  turn  out 
only  a  Valere. — Good  day,  my  Adonis, 
my  Apollo !' 

And  he  made  another  pirouette  upon 
his  heel. 

Philippe  had  become  gloomy,  he 
caught  the  old  man's  arm  as  he  was 
whirling  round. 

'  You  were  not  speaking  seriously, 
were  you,  my  father,'  said  he,  '  for  it  is 
impossible  that  a  nobleman  of  so  dis- 
tinguished a  race  as  you  are,  could 
continue  to  give  currency  to  such  cal- 
umnies, invented  by  the  enemies  not 
only  of  the  Queen,  but  of  royalty  itself.' 

4  He  doubts  it,  the  double  brute !' 
exclaimed  Taverney. 

'  You  have  spoken  to  me  as  you 
would  speak  before  God?' 

'  In  truth  I  have.' 

*  As   you    would   speak    before  God 
when  hastening  every  day  towards  the 
tomb  ?' 

The  young  man  had  renewed  the 
conversation  he  had  so  disdainfully  brok- 
en off;  this  was  a  point  gained  by  the 
Baron,  and  he  drew  nearer. 

4 Why  it  appears  to  me,  my  son,' 
said  he,  4  that  1  am  a  tolerable  gentle- 
man, as  times  go,  and  that  I  do  not  al- 
ways lie.' 

This  always  was  somewhat  laughable, 
and  yet  Philippe  did  not  even  smile. 

'Thus,  sir,'  said  he,  •  it  is  your  opin- 
ion that  the  Queen  has  had  lovers.' 

'  A  wonderful  piece  of  news,  indeed!' 

4  Those  whom  you  have  named  ?' 

*  And    others,  what  know  I.     Ques- 
tion the  court,  the   city  ;  a  man    must 
have  arrived  but  recently  from   Ameri- 
ca, to  be  ignorant  of  what  is  said.' 

*  And  who  has  said  this,  sir?     Some 
vile  pamphleteers?' 

4  Oh  !  oh  !  so  you  take  use,  perchance, 
for  one  rof  these  scribblers  ?' 

4  No  :  and  there  lies  the  misfortune, 


for  such  njen  as  you  to  repeat  such  in- 
famy, which  without  that  would  fade 
away  like  those  unwholesome  vapors 
which  sometimes  obscure  the  sun.  It 
is  you,  and  people  of  your  rank,  who 
give  a  terrible  consistency  to  such  vile 
slanders  by  repeating  them,  oh !  sir, 
for  religion's  sake  do  not  speak  of  such 
matters.' 

4  I  repeat  it,  notwithstanding.' 
. 4 And  why  do  you   repeat  it?'  cried 
the  young  man,  stamping  his  foot. 

4  Why,'  said  the  old  man  clutching 
his  son's  arm  and  looking  at  him  with 
his  demon-like  smile,  4to  prove  to  you 
that  I  was  not  wrong  in  saying  to  you, 
Philippe  the  Queen  is  looking  back, 
Philippe,  the  queen  is  searching  foryou, 
Philippe,  the  queen  is  expecting  you.' 

4  Oh !'  cried  the  young  man,  conceal- 
ing hifl  face  with  both  hands,  4  in  the 
name  of  Heaven  say  not  another  word, 
for  you  will  drive  me  mad.' 

4  In  truth  Philippe,  I  do  not  under- 
stand you,'  said  the  old  man,  '  is  it  a 
crime  to  love ;  that  only  proves  one 
has  a  heart;  a-ndin  the  eyes  of  that  wo- 
man, in  her  voice,  in  her  every  motioa 
cannot  her  heart  be  seen  ?  She  loves, 
is  it  you  she  loves  ?  That  I  know  not :' 
is  it  another  ?  That  is  possible ;  but 
trust  to  my  old  experience  in  these 
matters,  at  this  moment  she  loves,  or 
begins  to  love,  some  one,  I  tell  you. 
But  you  are  a  philosopher,  a  puritan,  a 
quaker,  an  American  just  dropped  from 
the  clouds.  You  do  not  love,  you. 
Well  then  let  her  look  back,  let  her 
gaze  after  you,  let  her  expect  you.  In- 
sult her,  repulse  her,  despise  her, -Phi- 
lippe, I  should  have  said  Joseph,  de 
Taverney.' 

And  after  these  words  accentuated 
with  bitter  irony,  the  little  old  man  see- 
ing the  effect  he  had  produced,  vanish- 
ed like  the  Tempter,  after  he  had  given 
his  first  counsel  to  com  mitt  crime. 

Philippe  remained  alone,  with  a  swel- 
ling heart  and  throbbing  temples;  he 
did  not  even  remember  that  he  had 
stood  there  half  an  hour  as  if  uaiied  to 
the  spot ;  that  the  Queen  had  complet- 
ed her  turn  upon  the  lake  and  was  com- 
ing back  ;  on  approaching  him  ahe  look- 
ed at  him,  and  from  the  midst  of  her 
numerous  retinue  she  called  .-him 

You   have   had   good  time    to   rest 
yourself,     Monsieur    de    Taverney! — 
!ome  .then,  none  but  you  can  royally 
conduct  the  sledge  of  a  Queen.     Make 
room,  gentlemen.' 

Philippe  ran  to  her  dazsled,  stunned, 
ntoxicated. 


THE  QUEEN'S  NECKLACE;  OR,  THE 


On  placing  his  hand  on  the  back  of 
the  sledge  a  burning  thrill  pervaded  all 
his  being ;  the  Queen  had  negligently 
thrown  back  her  head,  the  fingers  of  the 
young  man  had  slightly  grazed  the  hair 
of  Marie  Antoinette. 


CHAPTER  XL 

THE    SUFFRKN. 

CONTRARY  to  all  the  customs  of  the 
court  the  secret  of  Louis  XVI  and  the 
Count  d'Artois  had  been  faithfully  pre- 
served. 

No  one  knew  at  what  hour  nor  by 
what  road  M.  de  Suffren  was  to  arrive. 

The  King  had  ordered  a  card  party 
for  that  evening. 

At  seven  o'clock  he  entered  the  room 
with  the  friends  and  Princesses  of  his 
family. 

The  Queen  arrived,  leading  by  the 
hand  the  Princess  Royal,  who  was  then 
only  seven  years  old. 

The  assemblage  was  numerous  and 
brilliant. 

During  the  preliminaries  of  the  meet- 
ing, at  the  moment  when  every  one 
was  about  to  take  his  place,  the  Count 
d'Artois  very  softly  approached  the 
Queen,  and  said  to  her. 

'  My  sister,  look  carefully  around 
you.' 

'Well!'  she  replied,  'lam   looking.' 

'  And  what  do  you  see?' 

The  Queen  carefully  cast  her  eyes 
around  her,  looked  in  every  direction, 
and  meeting  every  where  but  well 
known  and  friendly  faces,  or  those  of 
faithful  servants,  among  whom  were 
Andree  and  her  brother  ; 

'  Why,'  she  said,  'I  see  none  but  ev- 
ery agreeable  face,  and  above  all  the 
faces  of  friends.' 

'  Do  not  observe  those  we  have  here, 
sister,  but,  those  who  are  missing.' 

'  Ah  !  that  is  true,  indeed,'  she  ex- 
clnimed. 

The  Count  d'Artois  laughed, 

'  Again  absent,'  rejoined  the  Queen. 
'  But  tell  me  am  I  always  thus  to  drive 
him  away.' 

'  No,'  said  the  Count,  '  only  the  joke 
has  been  rather  prolonged.  Monsieur 
has  gone  to  the  barrier  to  await  the  ar- 
rival of  M.  de  Suffren.' 

'  But,  that  being  the  case,  I  do  not 
see  why  you  should  laugh,  dear  bro- 
ther.' 

'  You  do  not  see  why  I  should  laugh  ?' 


'  Certainly  not ;  if  Monsieur  has  gone 
to  the  barrier  to  wait  for  M.  de  Suffren, 
he  has  been  more  cu«ning  than  you,  for 
he  will  be  the  first  to  see  him,  and  con- 
sequently to  compliment;  him,  before 
everybody.' 

!  'Well,  really,  dear  sister,'  replied 
the  young  prince,  laughjng,  '  you  have 
but  a  mean  idea  of  our  diplomacy. 
Monsieur  is  gone  to  wait  for  the  admi- 
ral at  the  barrier  of  Fontainebleau,  that 
is  undoubtedly  true,  but  we  have  some 
one  waiting  for  him  at  the.  Villeguif 
post-house.' 

'Really?' 

'  So  that,'  continued  the  Count  d'Ar- 
tois, '  Monsieur  will  be  freezing  at  the 
barrier,  while,  upon  an 'order  from  the 
king,  M.  de  Suffren,  instead  of  going 
through  Paris,  will  come  direct  to  Ver- 
sailles, where  we  nre  waiting  for  him.' 

'  'Tis  marvellously  well  imagined.' 

'  Why,  not  so  badly  ;  I  am  tolerably 
well  satisfied  with  myself  in  this  mat- 
ter. But  make  up  your  game,  dear  sis- 
ter.' 

There  were  at  that  moment  in  the 
card-room  at  least  a  hundred  persons  of 
the  highest  rank,  M.  de  Conde,  M.  de 
Penthieore,  M.  de  la  Tremouille,  and 
the  princesses. 

The  King  alone  perceived  that  the 
Count  d'Artois  was  making  the  queen 
laugh,  and  in  order  to  let  them  know  he 
understood  the  subject  of  their  mirth,  he 
gave  them  u  most  significant  glance. 

The  news  of  the  arrival  of  the  Com- 
mandant de  Suffren  had  not,  as  wo  have 
before  stated,  been  spread  abroad,  and 
yet  there  seemed  to  be  some  sort/rf 
presentiment  which  occupied  the  minds 
of  the  assembled  company.  They  seem- 
ed to  feel  that  there  was  something 
hidden,  which  was  about  to  appear — 
something  new,  on  the  eve  of  bursting 
forth  ; — some  unknown  interest  awak- 
ened the  attention  of  every  one, — and 
this  in  a  court  where  every  trifle  as- 
sumes importance,  whenever  the  mas- 
ter knits  his  brow  in  disapprobation,  or 
distends  his  lips  to  smile. 

The  King,  who  was  in  the  habit  of 
staking  only  a  six  livres  piece,  in  order 
to  moderate  the  play  of  the  princes  and 
the  lords  of  the  court — the  King,  with- 
out in  the  least  intending  it,  had  placed 
all  the  gold  he  had  in  his  pockets  upon 
the  table. 

The  Queen,  who  played  her  part 
more  perfectly,  diverted  the  attention 
of  the  circle,  by  politically  appearing 
to  take  an  excessive  interest  in  her 
game. 


MYSTERIES  OF  THE  COURT  OF  LOUIS  XVI. 


71 


Philippe,  who  was  admitted  into  the 
party,  and  seated  opposite  to  his  sister, 
was  reflecting  on  the  astounding,  un- 
heard-of degree  of  favor  which  had  thus 
so  unexpectedly  shone  upon  him. 

The  words  of  his  father  recurred  to 
his  mind,  whether  he  would  or  not. 
He  asked  himself  whether,  in  fact,  the 
old  maq,  who»had  witnessed  the  reign 
of  three  or  four  favorites,  was  not  well 
informed  of  the  history  and  morals  of 
the  court. 

He  asked  himself  whether  that  pu- 
ritauisin,  so  closely  allied  to  religious 
adoration,  was  not  an  additional  ridi- 
culous quality  he  had  imported  with 
him  from  a  far  distant  country. 

The  Queen,  in  herself  so  poetical,  so 
beautiful,  so  sisterly  in  her  manner  to- 
wards him,  was  she  but  a  finished  and 
terrible  coquette,  anxious  to  add  ano- 
ther passion  to  her  list  of  triumphs,  as 
the  eutymologist  attaches  another  in  • 
sect  or  butterfly  to  his  collection,  with- 
out at  all  considering  the  sufferings  of 
the  poor  flutterer  which  he  Has  pinned 
to  his  card  ? 

And  yet  the  queen  was  no  ordinary 
woman,  no  every-day  character ;  her 
lock  always  meant  something — she  who 
never  let  fall  a  look  without  calculating 
its  effect. 

'  Coigny,  Vandreuil,'  repeated  Phi- 
lippe, '  they  have  loved  the  queen  and 
been  beloved  by  her.  Oh  !  why  is  this 
calumny  of  so  dark  a  nature.  Why 
does  not  some  ray  of  light  illumine  that 
profound  abyss  which  is  called  the 
heart  of  woman,  and  deeper  still,  when 
it  is  the  heart  of  a  queen  ?' 

And  when  Philippe  had  sufficiently 
rung  the  changes  on  these  two  names, 
he  looked  to  the  other  end  of  the  table 
where  were  seated  Messrs,  de  Coigny 
and  Vandreuil,  who  by  a  singular  coinci- 
dence were  sitting  side  by  side,  their 
eyes  turned  in  an  opposite  direction  to 
where  the  queen  then  was,  indifferent, 
not  to  say  forgetful. 

And  Philippe  said  to  himself,  that  it 
was  impossible  these  two  men  could 
have  loved  and  now  be  so  indifferent ; 
that  they  had  been  loved,  and  could 
now  be  so  forgetful.  Oh!  did  the 
queen  but  love  him,  he  would  go  mad 
from  happiness.  If  she  could  forget 
him,  after  having  loved  him,  he  would 
kill  himself  from  despair. 

And,  after  looking  at  Messieurs  de 
Coigny  and  de  Vandreuil,  he  turned 
his  eyes  from  them  to  Marie  Antoinette. 

And  still  dreaming  on,  he  questioned 
that  pure  forehead,  ihat  so  imperious 


mouth,  that  so  majestic  look,  and  asked 
of  all  these  beauties  a  revelation  of  the 
secrets  of  the  queen. 

'  Oh  !  no,  'tis  calumny!  'tis  calumny,' 
cried  he  mentally,  '  all  these  vague  ru- 
mors, which  are  beginning  to  circulate 
among  the  people  have  arisen  from  the 
base  interests,  the  hatred,  and  the  in- 
trigues of  the  court,  and  these  alone 
have  given  them  consistency.' 

Philippe  had  advanced  thus  far  in  his 
reflections,  when  the  clock  in  the  guard- 
room struck  three-quarters  past  seven. 
At  the  same  moment  a  rushing  noise  re- 
sounded from  the  guard-room,  steps 
were  hurrying  to  and  fro,  the  butts  of 
muskets  ringing  on  the  marble  pave- 
ment and  a  confusion  of  voices  was 
heard  through  the  opened  door,  which 
excited  the  attention  of  the  king,  who, 
throwing  his  head  back  to  listen  more 
attentively,  then  made  a  sigc  to  the 
queen. 

The  latter  understood  it,  and  imme"- 
diately  broke  up  the  card-table. 

Every  player  gathering  up  the  money 
which  was  before  them,  awaited,  in 
order  to  know  what  next  to  do,  a  signal 
from  the  queen. 

The  queen  went  into  the  grand  sa- 
loon appropriated  to  receptions. 

The  king  had  reached  it  before  her. 

An  aide-de-camp  of  M.  de  Castries, 
the  Minister  of  Marine,  approached  the 
king  and  whispered  a  few  words  in  his 
ear. 

'  'Tis  well,'  replied  the  king,  '  go.' 

Then,  turning  to  the  queen,  '  All  is 
proceeding  well,'  said  he. 

Every  one  interrogated  his  neighbor 
with  a  look — the  '  all  is  proceeding 
well'  setting  them  all  to  thinking  and 
imagining  what  was  about  to  happen. 
Suddenly  the  Marshal  de  Castries  en- 
tered the  saloon,  saying  in  a  loud  voice, 

'  Will  his  Majesty  receive  Monsieur 
le  Bailly  de*  Suffren,  who  has  just  ar- 
rived from  Toulon  ?' 

On  hearing  this  name  pronounced,  in 
a  loud,  joyous,  and  triumphant  tone,  an 
inexpressible  murmur  of  curiosity  was 
raised  in  the  assembly. 

'  Yes,  sir,'  replied  the  king,  'and  with 
great  pleasure.' 

M.  de  Castries  then  went  out. 

The  company  moved  almost  in  a  mass 
towards  the  door  through  which  M.  de 
Castries  had  disappeared. 

To  explain  this  sympathy  of  France 
for  M.  de  Suffren,  to  explain  tne  inter- 
est which  a  king,  a  queen,  and  princes 
of  the  blood  royal  felt  in  being  the  first 
to  obtain  a  sight  of  M.  de  Suffren,  few 


72 


THE  QUEEN'S  NECKLACE:    OR,  THE 


words  will  suffice.  Suffren  is  a  name 
as  essentially  French  as  that  of  Tur- 
enne,  Cut  mat.  and  Jean  Bart. 

Since  the  war  with  England,  or  ra- 
ther since  the  lust  combat  which  had 
preceded  pence,  the  Commandant  de 
Sulfren  had  fought  seven  great  naval 
buttles,  without  sustaining  a  defeat. 
He  had  taken  Trincomalee  and  Gonda- 
lore,  assured  the  French  possessions, 
cleared  the  seas,  and  taught  Hyder  Ali 
•  that  France  was  the  first  power  of  Eu- 
rope. He  had,  in  the  exercise  of  his 
profession  as  a  peaman,  evinced  all 
the  diplomacy  of  an  astute  and  honest 
negociator,  all  the  bravery"  and  all  the 
tactic  of  a  soldier,  and  the  skill  of  a 
•wise  administrator.  Bold,  indefatigable, 
proud,  wheneverthe  honor  of  the  French 
flag  was  in  question,  he  had  harrassed 
the  English  by  sea  and  land  to  such  a 
point  that  those  proud  sailors  never 
dared  to  complete  a  victory  commenced, 
or  to  attempt  an  attack  upon  Suffren, 
when  the  lion  showed  his  teeth. 

Then,  after  the  action,  during  which 
he  had  been  as  prodigal  of  his  own  life 
as  the  lowest  sailor,  he  proved  himself 
humane,  generous,  compassionate ;  he 
was  the  type  of  a  real  seaman,  some- 
'what  forgotten  since  the  days  of  Jean 
Bart  and  Duguay-Trouin,  but  which 
France  had  once  more  found  in  de  Suf- 
fren. 

We  will  not  attempt  to  describe  the 
noise  and  the  enthusiasm  which,  on  this 
first  notice  of  M.  de  Suflfren's  arrival, 
burst  forth  from  the  gentlemen  and  no- 
blemen who  had  been  convoked  to  at- 
tend this  meeting. 

Sutfren  was  then  about  fifty-six  years 
old,  short,  and  stout,  with  flashing  eyes, 
and  of  noble  and  easy  manners.  Active, 
notwithstanding  his  obesity — majestic, 
notwithstanding  his  affability — he  car- 
ried his  head-dress,  or  rather  his  mane, 
proudly  ;  as  a  man  accustomed  to  deride 
all  sorts  of  difficulties,  he  had  managed 
to  have  his  hair  dressed  in  his  travelling 
carriage. 

He  wore  a  blue  coat  embroidered 
with  gold,  a  red  waistcoat,  and  blue 
small  clothes.  He  had  retained  his 
military  stock,  upon  which  his  potent 
chin  rounded  itself  us  the  necessary 
finish  to  his  colossal  head. 

When  he  entered  the  guard-room 
some  one  had  whispered  a  word  to  M. 
de  Castries  who  was  impatiently  pacing 
up  and  down  the  room,  .and  instantly 
the  latter  exclaimed, 

4  Monsieur  de   Suffren,   gentlemen.' 

Immediately  the  guards  seizing  their 


musketoons  drew  themselves  up  in 
line  as  if  they  had  been  about  to  receive 
the  King  of  France,  and  de  Suffren 
having  passed  them,  they  formed  be- 
hind him,  four  abreast,  as  if  to  serve 
him  as  an  escort. 

De  Suffren,  shook  hands  heartily 
with  M  de  Castries,  and  endeavored  to 
embrace  him.  • 

But  the  Minister  of  Marine  gently  re- 
pulsed him. 

'  No,  no,  sir,'  said  he  to  him,  '  I  will 
not  deprive  one  who  is  more  worthy 
than  myself  of  the  happiness  of  being 
the  first  to  embrace  you.' 

And  he  conducted  M.  de  Suffren  into 
the  presence  of  Louis  XVI. 

'  Monsieur  de  Suffren,'  exclaimed  the 
King,  his  countenance  beaming  with 
joy,  as  soon  as  he  perceived  him,  '  you 
are  welcome  to  Versailles.  You  bring 
glory  with  you,  you  bring  all  that  heroes 
can  give  to  their  contemporaries  on 
jearth  ;  I  speak  not  to  you  of  the  future, 
that  is  your  property.  Embrace  me, 
M.  de  Suffren.' 

The  Commandant  had  bent  his  knee; 
the  King  raised  him  and  embraced  him 
so  cordially  that  a  long  murmur  of  joy 
and  triumph  ran  through  the  whole  as- 
semblage. 

But  for  the  respect  due  to  the  King, 
every  person  present  would  have  vied 
in  shouts  of  bravo  and  iipplause. 

The  King  then  turned  towards  the 
Queen. 

'  Madam,'  said  he,  '  this  is  Monsieur 
de  Suffren  the  conqueror  of  Trincomalee 
and  of  Gondalore,  the  terror  of  our 
neighbors  the  English  :  my  own  Jean 
Bart.' 

'  Sir,'  said  the  Queen,  '  I  will  not  at- 
tempt to  speak  in  praise  of  you.  But 
let  me  only  tell  you  that  you  never  fired 
a  shot  for  the  glory  of  France  that  my 
he^rt  did  not  beat  with  Admiration  and 
gratitude  towards  you.' 

The  Queen  had  scarcely  finished 
speaking  when  the  Count  d'Artois,  ad- 
vanced with  his  son,  the  duke  d'An- 
godletnfe. 

'  My  son,'  said  he,  you  see  a  hero. 
Look  well  at  him  for  it  is  a  rare  sight.' 

'  Monsieur,'  repHed  the  young  Prince 
to  his  father,  'I  was  jnst  now  reading 
Plutarch's  lives  of  great  men,  but  I  did 
not  see  them  ;  I  thank  you  for  having 
shown  me  M.  de  Suffren.' 

From  the  murmur  of  approbation 
which  arose  aronnd  him  the  child  could 
comprehend"  that  he  had  uttered  a  say- 
ing which  would  not  be  forgotten. 

The  King  then  took  M.  de  Snffren  by 


MYSTERIES  OF  THE  COURT  OF  LOUIS  XVI. 


73 


the  arm  and  was  about  to  lead  him  off  to 
his  cabinet  to  converse  with  him  on  geo- 
graphy, on  his  voyage  and  expedition. 

But  M.  de  Sufferen  made  respectful 
resistance. 

'Sire,'  said  he,  'please to  permit  me, 
since  your  Majesty  has  evinced  such 
goodness  towards  me — ' 

1  Oh  !'  cried  the  king,  '  what  is  it  that 
you  ask,  M.  de  Suffren  ?' 

i.  one  of  my  officers  has  com- 
mitted so  serious  a  fault  with  regard  to 
discipline,  that  I  thought  your  Majesty 
alone  should  judge  the  cause.' 

'  Oh !  Monsieur  de  Suffren,  I  had 
hoped  that  your  first  request  would  be 
for  fiivor  not  for  punishment.' 

'  Sire,  I  have  had  the  honor  to  inform 
your  Majesty  that  you  shall  be  the 
judge.' 

4 1  am  listening.' 

'During  the  last  combat,  the  officer 
of  whom  lam  speaking  was  on  board 
the  Sfvere.1 

'  Oh !  the  vessel  that  struck  her 
•flag,'  said  the  king  frowning. 

'Sire,  the  •"  captain  of  the  Severe  had 
in  fact  hauled  down  his  colors,'  replied 
M.  de  Suffren  bowing,  '  and  the  English 
Admiral  had  already  sent  a  boat  to  man 
the  prize ;  but  the  Lieutenant  of  the 
ship,  who  commanded  the  batteries  on 
the  gun-deck,  having  perceived  that  the 
fire  had  ceased,  and  having  received  an 
order  to  discontinre  firing,  came  on  the 
upper-deck;  he  saw  that  the  colors 
were  hauled  down  and  that  the  captain 
wns  about  to  surrender.  I  beg  your 
Majesty's  pardon  for  the  act,  Sire,  but 
at  this  sight  all  the  French  blood  in  his 
veins  revolted  at  it.  He  seized  the 
flag  which  happened  to  be  -within  reach, 
caught  up  a  hammer,  and  while  he  or- 
dered the  fire  to  be  continued,  mounted 
aloft  and  nailed  the  flag  to  the  mast 
close  under  the  pennant.  It  was  by 
this*  act,  Sire,  that  the  Severe  was  saved 
to  your  Majesty. 

'  A  magnificent  trait,'  cried'the   king. 

4  A  brave  action,'  said  the  queen. 

'  Yes,  Sire  ;  yes,  madam  ;  but  a  se- 
rious breach  of  discipline.  The  order 
had  been  given  by  the  captain,  the  /lieu- 
tenant ought  to  have  obeyed.  1,  there- 
fore ask  you  to  grant  this  officer's  par- 
don. And  I  ask  it  of  you,  Sire,  with 
greater  earnestness,  for  he  is  my  ne- 
phew.' 

'  Your  nephew  !'  exclaimed  the  king, 
4  and  you  had  not  mentioned  this  to  me  ? 

4  To  the  king,  no ;  but  I  Had  the  hon- 
or to  report  it  to  the  Minister  of  Marine, 
begging  him  not  to    mention  it  to   your 
10 


Majesty  until  I  had  obtained  the  pardon 
of  the  offender.' ' 

'  Granted !  granted  !'  exclaimed  the 
king,  '  and  I  promise  at  once  my  pro- 
tection to  all  who  may  commit  such 
breach  of  discipline,  and  thus  avenge 
the  honor  of  the  flag  and  of  the  king  of 
France.  You  ought  to  have  presented 
this  officer  to  me,  M.  de  Suffren.' 

'  He  is  here,'  replied  M.  de  Suffren, 
'and  since  your  Majesty  permits  me — ' 

M.  de  Suffren  turned  round. 

•  Approach,  Monsieur  de  Charny,' 
said  he. 

The  Queen  started.  This  name 
awakened  in  her  mind  a  recollection 
which  was  too  recent  to  be  effaced. 

A  young  officer  then  stepped  forward 
from  the  group  standing  behind  M.  de 
Suffren,  and  suddenly  appeared  before 
the  kicj. 

The  Queen  on  her  side  had  made  a 
movement  to  advance  towards  the 
young  man  from  the  enthusiasm  with 
which  the  recital  of  his  noble  action  had 
inspired  her. 

But  on  hearing  his  name,  and  .on  see- 
ing the  officer  whom  M.  .de  Saffron. pre- 
sented to  the  king,  she  paused,  tunned 
pale  and  uttered  a  slight  murmur. 

Madamoiselle  de  Taverney,  hid  also 
turned  pale,  and  looked  anxiously  at  the 
queen. 

As  to  M.  de  Charny,  without  seeing 
any  thing,  his  features  expressing  no 
other  feeling  but  that  of  respect,  he 
knelt  down  before  the  king  who  gave 
him  his  hand  to  kiss,  then  he  retired 
modest  and  trembling  beneath  the  eager 
looks  of  the  assembly,  within  the  circle 
of  officers  who  loudly  congratulated 
him  and  overwhelmed  him  with  ca- 
ressesT 

There  wae  then  a  momentiof  silence 
and  emotion ;  during  which  the  king 
appeared  radiant  with  happiness,  the 
queen  smiling  and  undecided,  M.  de 
Charny  with  downcast  eyes,  and  Phi- 
lippe, whom  the  queen's  emotion  had 
not  ettcaped,  anxious  and  inquiring. 

'Come,'  at  length  said  the  king, 
4  come  with  me,  Monsieur  de  Sulfren, 
that  we  may  converse  together ;  I  am 
dying  with  desire  to  hear  you  and  to 
prove  to  you  how  much  I  have  thought 
of  you.' 

Sire,  so  .much  goodness — ' 

4  Oh  !  you  shall  see  my  charts ;  you 
shall  see  that  every  phase  of  your  ex- 
pedition was  foreseen  and  marked  out 
by  my  solicitude.  Come,  come.' 

Then  after  going  a  few  steps  drag- 
ging  M.  de  Suffren  with  him,  he  §ud- 


THE  QUEEN'S  NECKLACE;  OR,  THE 


denly  turned  round  towards  the  queen. 

4  By-the-by,  madam,'  said  he,  '  I  have, 
as  you  well  know,  ordered  a  ship  of  one 
hundred  guns  to  be  built ;  I  have  chang- 
ed my  mind  with  regard  to  the  name. 
Instead  of  calling  her  as  we  had 
agreed — ' 

Marie  Antoinette,  who  had  somewhat 
recovered  her  self  posession,  at  once 
caught  the  king's  idea. 

4  Yes,  yes,'  she  said,  '  we  will  call 
the  ship  the  Suffren,  nnd  I  will  be  the 
god-mother  with  M.  de  Suffren.' 

Acclamations  which  until  then  had 
been  restrained  now  loudly  burst  forth. 
4  Long  live  the  King !  long  live  the 
Queen  ." 

'  And  long  live  the  Suffren  /'  added 
the  king  with  exquisite  delicacy,  for  no 
one  could  shout  long  live  M.  de  Suffren, 
in  presence  of  the  king,  while  the  most 
minute  observer  of  etiquette  might  ciy 
1  Jong  live  his  Majesty's  ship  I' 

'  Long  live  the  Suffren,'  shouted  the 
whole  assembly  with  enthusiasm. 

The  King  made  a  sign  to  thank  them 
for  having  so  well  understood  his  mean- 
ing, and  led  M.  de  Suffren  to  his  cabi- 
net. 


CHAPTER  XIT. 

MONSIEUR    DE    CHARNY. 

As  soon  as  the  king  had  disappeared, 
all  the  princes  and  princesses  in  the 
drawing-room  formed  a  group  around 
her  Majesty. 

De  Suffren  on  going  out  had  made  a 
sign  to  his  nephew  to  await  his  return. 

The  Queen,  who  had  exchanged  sev- 
eral significant  glances  with  Andree, 
did  not  lose  sight  of  the  young  man, 
and  every  time  she  looked  at  him,  said 
to  herself, 

'  It  is  he  ;  there  cannot  be  a  doubt  of 
it.' 

To  which  Mademoiselle  dc  Taverney 
replied  in  pantomime  in  such  a  way  as 
not  to  leave  a  doubt  in  the  queen's  mind, 
for  it  meant, 

'  Oh!  good  heavens  !  yes,  madam,  'tis 
he,  'tis  he  himself." 

Philippe,  as  we  have  before  said,  had 
observed  this  pteoccupation  of  the 
queen :  he  saw  it  and  felt  if  not  the 
actual  cause,  a  vague  sense  of  it. 

Never  can  he  who  loves  be  mistaken 
as  to  the  impression  of  her  he  loves. 

He  guessed  therefore  that  the  queen 
had  just  been  struck  by  some  singular 


event,  mysterious,  unknown  to  all  the 
world  excepting  herself  and  Andree. 

In  fact,  the  queen  had  become  con- 
fused and  had  sought  refuge  behind  her 
fan.  She  who  habitually  made  every 
one  cast  down  their  eyes  before  her 
gaze. 

While  the  young  man  was  asking 
himself  what  could  be  the  meaning  of 
this  strange  preoccupation  of  her  Ma- 
jesty, while  he  was  endeavoring  to 
sound  the  features  of  Messieurs  de 
Coigny  and  de  Vandreuil  to  ascertain 
whether  they  were  in  any  way  con- 
nected with  this  mystery,  and  observ- 
ed that  they  were  carefully  occupied 
in  conversing  with  M.  de  Haga,  who 
had  come  to  Versailles  to  pay  his  re- 
spects to  their  Majesties,  a  person  at- 
tired in  the  majestic  robes  of  a  cardinal, 
followed  by  a  numerous  suite*of  officers 
and  prelates,  entered  the  drawing-room. 

The  Queen  recognized  M.  Louis  de 
Rohan;  she -saw  him  the  moment  he 
appeared  at  the  opposite  end  of  the 
room,  and  immediately  turned  away 
her  head,  without  even  taking  the  trou- 
ble to  conceal  the  frown  that  clouded 
her  fair  forehead. 

The  prelate  traversed  the  whole  of 
the  assembly  without  noticing  any  one, 
and  went  straight  to  the  queen,  before 
whom  he  bowed  more  with  the  air  of 
a  man  of  the  world  paying  his  devoirs  to 
a  lady,  than  a  subject  who  pays  homage 
to  a  queen. 

Then  he  addressed  a  veiy  gallant 
compliment  to  her  Majesty,  who  scarce- 
ly turning  her  head  towards  him,  mur- 
mured two  or  three  words,  freezingly 
ceremonious,  nnd  then  resumed  her 
conversation  with  Madame  de  Lamballe 
and  Madame  de  Polignac. 

Prince  Louis  did  not  appear  to  have 
perceived  the  uucourteous  reception  of 
the  queen.  He  went  through  the  usual 
number  of  bows,  then  turned  round 
without  precipitation,  and  with  the 
grace  of -a  perfect  courtier,  he  address- 
ed Mesdames,  the  king's  aunts,  with 
whom  he  conversed  a  considerable  time, 
seeing  that  by  virtue  of  the  game  of  see- 
saw, so  long  played  at  court,  he  obtain- 
ed from  them  a  welcome  as  cordial  as 
that  of  the  queen  had  been  freezing. 

The  Cardinal  Louis  de  Rohan  was  a 
man  in  the  prime  of  life,  of  an  impos- 
ing figure  and  noble  deportment ;  his 
features  beamed  with  intelligence  and 
softness  ;  his  mouth  was  small  and  ex- 
pressive of  circumspection  ;  his  hands 
were  admirable  ;  his  forehead,  rather 
bald,  gave  token  of  the  man  of  pleasure 


MYSTERIES  OF  THE  COURT  OF  LOUIS  XVI. 


75 


or  of  study :  the  Prince  de  Rohan  was, 
in  fact,  both  one  and  the  other. 

He  was  a  man  much  sought  after  by 
women  who  were  fond  of  gallantry  un- 
accompanied by  insipidity  and  noise  ; 
he  was  proverbial  for  his  magnificence, 
and  had  in  fact  discovered  the  means  of 
believing  himself  poor  while  possessing 
an  income  of  sixteen  hundred  thousand 
livres. 

The  King  liked  him  because  he  was 
learned  ;  the  Queen,  on  the  contrary, 
hated  him. 

The  reasons  for  this  hatred  have  ne- 
ver been  perfectly  ascertained,  butthey 
may  have  arisen  from  the  two  following 
causes : 

In  the  first  place,  in  his  quality  of 
Ambassador  to  Vienna,  Prince  Louis, 
it  is  said,  had  written  to  the  King, 
Louis  XV,  letters  so  full  of  irony,  with 
regard  to  her  mother  Maria  Theresa, 
that  Marie  Antoinette  could  never  for- 
give the  diplomatist. 

In  the  second,  and  this  is  more  hu- 
man and  at  the  same  time  more  prob- 
able, the  ambassador,  when  writing  to 
Louis  XV  on  the  subject  of  the  mar- 
riage of  the  Archduchess  with  the 
Dauphin,  which  letter  was  read  aloud 
by  the  king  at  a  supper  at  Madame  Du- 
barry's  house,  had  mentioned  certain 
peculiarities  hostile  to  the  self-love  of 
the  young  lady,  who  was  remarkably 
thin  at  that  period. 

Thes%  attacks,  it  is  said,  had  severely 
wounded   the   self-love    of  Marie   An- 
toinette,  who   could    not    publicly   ac- 
knowledge that   she  was  the  victim  of  j 
them,  and  had  vowed  she  would,  soon-  j 
er  or  later,  punish  the  author  of  them,  i 

And  beneath  all  this  there  was  natu-  I 
rally  a  vast  field  for  political  intrigue. 

The    embassy   to   Vienna  had  been  I 
withdrawn  from  M.  de  Breteuil. 

M.  de  Breteuil,  too  feeble  to  contend  ! 
openly  against  the  prince,  had  then  em- 
ployed what,  in  diplomacy  is  called  ad- 
dress. He  had  procured  copies,  or 
perhaps  the  originals,  of  the  prelate's 
letters,  who  was  then  ambassador,  and 
balancing  the  real  services  rendered  by 
the  diplomatist  with  the  petty  hostility 
he  had  declared  against  the  Imperial 
Austrian  family,  he  had  found  in  the 
Dauphinessan  auxiliary  decided  on  one 
day  overthrowing  the  Prince  de  Rohan. 

This  hatred  was  smouldering  but  not 
'extinguished  ;  it  rendered   the   cardi- 
nal's position   at  court  a  very  difficult 
one. 

Every  time  he  saw  the  queen  he  was 
compelled  to  undergo  the  sirne  ice-like 


coldness,  of  which  we  have  just  endea- 
vored to  give  an  idea. 

But,  rising  above  this  disdain,  whe- 
ther it  was  that  he  was  really  superior 
to  it,  or  that  some  irresistible  feeling 
constrained  him  to  forgive  all  his  ene- 
my could  do,  Louis  de  Rohan  never 
omitted  an  opportunity  of  presenting 
himself  before  Marie  Antoinette,  op- 
portunities which  were  not  wanting  to 
him,  for  the  Prince  de  llohan  Avas  grand 
almoner  of  the  court. 

He  had  never  complained — had  never 
avowed  any  thing  to  any  one.  A  small 
circle  of  friends,  among  whom  the  prin- 
cipal was  the  Baron  de  Planta,  a  Ger- 
man officer,  his  most  trusty  confidant, 
served  to  console  him  for  those  royal 
rebuffs,  when  the  ladies  of  the  court, 
who,  on  the  point  of  severity  towards 
the  cardinal,  did  not  all  adopt  the  queen 
as  their  model,  had  not  effected  this  de- 
sired result. 

The  cardinal  had  just  passed  as  a 
shadow  over  the  pleasing  picture  which 
the  queen's  imagination  had  conjured 
up.  Therefore,  as  soon  as  he  had  re- 
tired, Marie  Antoinette's  brow  became 
once  more  serene. 

'  Do  you  know,'  said  she  to  the  Prin- 
cess de  Lamballe,  '  that  the  action  of 
this  young  officer,  M.  de  Suffren's 
nephew,  seems  to  me  one  of  the  most 
remarkable  that  has  occurred  during 
the  war.  What  was  the  name  they 
mentioned  ?' 

4  M.  de  Charny,  I  believe,'  replied 
the  princess. 

Then  turning  towards  Andree,  to  as- 
certain if  she  was  right, 

'  Was  not  that  the  name,  Mademois- 
elle de  Taverney?' 

4  It  was,  your  highness,  Charny,'  re- 
plied Andree.' 

'  M.  de  Charny,'  said  the  queen, 
4  must  relate  to  us  ourselves  the  epi- 
sode, without  sparing  the  slightest  de- 
tail. Let  him  be  sought  for.  Is  he 
still  here  ?' 

An  officer  immediately  stepped  for- 
ward from  the  circle,  and  hastened  to 
execute  the  queen's  order. 

At  the  same  moment,  as  she  was 
looking  around  her,  she  perceived  Phi- 
lippe, and,  impatient,  as  she  always 
was — 

'  Monsieur  de  Taverney,'  she  aaid, 
'  why  do  you  not  search  for  him  ?' 

Philippe  blushed ;  he  thought,  per- 
haps, he  ought  to  have  anticipated  the 
desire  of  his  sovereign.  He  therefore 
set  about  to  search  for  that  thrice  hap- 
py officer,  upon  whom  he  had  kept  his 


THE  QUEEN'S  NECKLACE ;  OR,  THE 


eyes  continually  fixed  from  the  moment 
of  his  presentation. 

It  therefore  was  not  a  search  of  much 
difficulty. 

M.  de  Charny  advanced,  a  moment 
•ifierwards,  between  the  two  messen- 
gers of  the  queen. 

The  circle   immediately   widened  to 

admit  him.     The  queen   had   then  an 

opportunity    of    examining    him   with 

M  attention  than  had  been  possible 

tin;  previous  evening. 

He  was  a  young  man,  from  twenty- 
p«ven  to  twenty-eight  years  of  age, 
upright  ;-,nd  thin,  but  with  broad  shoul- 
ders and  perfectly  well-formed  limbs. 
His  teatifres,  at  once  soft  and  regular, 
assumed  an  expression  of  singular  ener- 
gy each  time  that  his  large  blue  eyes 
dilated.  And  what  was  most  astonish- 
ing in  a  man  just  returned  from  the 
wars  in  India,  his  complexion  was  as 
fnir  as  that  of  Philippe  was  dark.  — 
Round  his  nervous  neck,  which  was 
'beautifully  formed,  he  wore  a  white 
muslin  cravat,  but  it  was  less  white 
than  his  fair  skin. 

When  he  approached  the  group,  in 
l  he  centre  of  which  stood  the  queen,  he 
had  not  in  the  slightest  manner  inti- 

•ud  that  he  had  recognized  either 
Mademoiselle  de  Taverney  or  the  queen 


Surrounded  by  officers,  .asking  all 
sorts  of  questions,  to  which  he  civilly 
replied,  he  appeared  to  have  forgotten 
that  tnere  was  a  king  who  had  spoken 
to  him,  a  queen  who  had  deigned  to 
look  upon  him. 

That  politeness,  that  reserve,  were 
of  a  nature  io  attract  more  than  ever 
she  attention  of  the  queen,  who  was  so 
delicate  herself  in  all  that  regarded  the 
observances  of  society.  ' 

It  was  not  only  with  regard  to  others 
tihat   M.   de  Charny  WHS  right   in  con- 
cealing his  surprise  at  the  so  unexpect-  j 
ed   sight   of  the  lady  of   the   hackney  j 
coach.     The  acme  of  delicacy  and  gal-  i 
•Ian  try  WH*   i<>  allow  her,   if  that  were 
possible,  to  remain  ignorant  of  his  hav- 
ing recognized  her. 

De  Charny  advanced   naturally  into 
the  centre  of  the  circle,  with  ej'es  cast 
liuvn  with  a  timidity  at.  once  respectful  \ 
and    in   good   taste;    he    did  not  raise 
tii-  -m  till  tke  queen  addressed  him. 

•  Monsieur  de  Charny,'  said  she  to  j 
him,  'these  ladies  feel  a  desire  which! 
is  very  natural,  for  I  also  participate  I 
in  it,  to  learn  the  whole  affair  of  the  j 
ship,  and  in  all  its  details  ;  I  beg  of  you  . 
to  relate  it  to  us.' 


4  Madam,'  replied  the  young  seaman, 
amid  the  most  profound  silence,  '  I  en- 
treat your  Majesty,  not  from  any /also 
feeling  of  modesty,  but  from  humanity, 
to  excuse  me  fiom  entering  into  this 
recital.  That  which  f  did  as  lieutenant 
of  the  Severe,  ten  officers,  rny  comrades, 
had  also  thought  of  doing.  I  was  the 
first  to  execute  it,  and  in  that  lies  all 
my  merit.  As  to  giving  to  that  which 
was  done  the  importance  of  a  narrative 
addressed  to  your  Majesty — no,  madam, 
that  is  impossible, — and  your  generous 
heart,  your  royal  heart,  will  compre- 
hent  it.  The  commandant  of  the  Severe 
is  a  brave  officer,  who,  on  that  day.  had 
unfortunately  lost  his  reason.  Alas  ! 
madam,  you  must  have  heard  it  said  by 
the  most  courageous,  that  a  man  is  not 
always  brave.  It  required  but  ten  mi- 
nutes for  him  to  recover  his  self-pos- 
session ;  our  determination  not  to  sur- 
render afforded  him  a  respite,  and  his 
courage  returned  ;  from  lhat  moment, 
he  was  the  bravest  of  us  all.  It  is  for 
this  reason  that  I  conjure  your  Majesty 
not  to  exaggerate  the  merit  of  my  ac- 
tion ;  it  would  be  the  means  of  forever 
crushing  this  poor  officer,  who  evqry 
day  deplores  the  forgetfulness  of  H  tan- 
gle minute.' 

'Right!  right!'  exclaimed  the  queen 
with  mnch  emotion;  and  beaming  with 
delight  on  hearing  the  murmur  of  satis- 
faction which  the  generous  words  of 
the  young  officer  had  excited  in  all 
around  her:  'you  are  right,  Monsieur 
de  Charny,  you  are  an  honorable  man, 
and  as  such  I  have  known  you.' 

On  hearing  these  words  the  officer 
raised  his  head  ;  a  juvenile  blush  pur- 
pled his  face  ;  his  eyes  wandered  from 
the  queen  to  Andree,  in  a  species, of 
affright.  He  dreaded  the  sight  of  a  so 
generous  nature,  and  which  was  so 
impetuous  in  its  generosity. 

But  M.  de  Charny  had  still  more  t» 
suffer. 

4  For,'  continued  the  intrepid  queen, 
4  it  is  well  thai  you  should  all  know  that 
M.  de  Charny,  this  young  officer,  who 
only  arrived  yesterday,  this  unknown, 
was  already  well  known  to  us  before 
being  presented  here  this  evening,  and 
tlnit.  he  merits  being  known  and  admir- 
ed by  every  woman.' 

It  was  at  once  foreseen  that  the  quaen 
was  wbout  to  relate  some  story,  from 
which  every  one  might  glean  either 
some  petty  scandal,  or  some  little  se- 
cret. They  therefore  drew  more  closely 
around  her,  listened  with  eager  ears,  and 
crowded  toger.fa.er  in  anxious  expectation. 


MYST>:RIK.S  OF  THE  COURT  OF  LOUIS  xvi. 


77 


•  Figure  to  yourselves  ladies,'  rejoined 
the   queen   '  thnt   M.  de  Charuy   is  us 
indulgent   towards  the   ladies  as  he  is 
pitiless   towards    the    English.     I  have 

•  ry  related  of  him    which  I 
(!<•  lure  to  you  beforehand,  1ms — ' 

•in  !'  stammered  the  young 
officer. 

If  wi!l  be  readily  imagined  that  these 
words  uttered  by  tiie  queen  in  presence 
of  the  persou  to  whom  they  alluded, 
o«*f  seemed-  to  redouble  the  general 
curiosity. 

A  sort  of  anxious  thrill  ran  through 
the  auditory. 

Charny,  his  forehead  streaming 
with  perspiration,  would  have  given  one 
year  of  his  life  to  have  been  at  that  mo- 
ment in  India. 

4  The  following  is  the  fact,'  pursued 
the  queen.  '  Two  ladies,  whom  I  know, 
happening  to  be  delayed  one  evening, 
found  themselves  surrounded  by  a  fu- 
rious mob.  They  were  in  danger,  in 
real  imminent  danger.  M.  de  Char- 
ny happened  by  chance,  I  should  say 
providentially,  ro  be  passing  at  that  mo- 
ment. He  thrust  aside  the  crowd,  and 
without  knowing  them  and  although  it 
was  difficult  to  recognize  their  rank,  he 
at  once  took  them  under  his  protection 
accompanied  them  to  a  great  distance, 
t*n  leagues,  I  believe,  from  Paris.' 

•  Oh  .'    your    Majesty    exaggerates,' 
said  Charny  laughing,    being  reassured 
by  the  turn  which  the  queen  had  given 
to  the  story. 

'  Come  now,  let  us  set  it  down  at 
five  leagues  and  say  no  more  about  it,' 
added  the  Count  d'Artois,  suddenly 
joining  in  the  conversation. 

•  Be  it  so,  my  brother,'  continued  the 
queen.     'But  that  which  is  most  noble 
in  the  matter  is  that  M.  de  Charny  did 
not     even    endeavor   to    ascertain    the 
names  of  the  two  ladies  to  whom  he  had 
rendered  this  service,  that  he  set  them 
down  at  a  spot  which  they  had  indicat- 
ed  to  him,  that   he  withdrew  without 
even  turning  his  head ;  so  that  they  es- 
caped from  his  protecting  hands  with- 
out having  endured   a  moment's   anx- 
iety.' 

The  whole  assembly  exclaimed,  ad- 
mired, Chsirny  was  complimented  by 
twenty  ladies  at  the  same  moment. 

'This  was  noble,  was  it  not?'  added 
the  queen,  '  a  knight  of  the  round  table 
could  not  have  done  better!' 

'  It  is  superb!'   exclaimed  the  chorus. 

•  Monsieur  de  Charny.'  continued  tho 
queen,    '  the  king  is  at  this  time  occu- 
pied in  rewarding  your  uncle;  I,  on  my 


part,  would  wish  to  do  something  for 
the  nephew  of  that  gentleman.' 

And  sh«  held  out  her  hand  to  him. 

While  Charny,  pnle  with  joy,  waa 
pressing  it  to  his  lips,  Philippe,  pale 
with  grief,  concealed  himself  behind 
the  ample  curtains  of  the  drawing- 
room. 

Andree  also  had  turned  pale,  and  yet 
she  could  not  have  conceived  all  that 
her  brorhcr  suffered. 

The  voice  of  the  Count  d'Artois  broke 
in  upon  the  scene,  which  would  have 
been  so  curious  to  an  observer. 

'  Ah  !  my  brother  of  Provence,'  cried 
he  aloud,  '  approach,  sir,  approach,  you 
have  missed  a  most  magnificent  specta- 
cle, the  reception  of  M.  de  Suffren  ;  in 
truth  it  was  a  moment  which  French 
hearts  never  can  forget.  How  the 
dense  could  you  happen  to  miss  it,  you 
who  in  general  are  so  exact,  exactitude 
par  excellence. 

Monsieur  pursed  up  his  lipa,  bowed 
absently  to  the  queen,  and  replied  by 
some  common  place  expression. 

Then  in  a  whisper  to  M.  de  Favras, 
the  captain  of  his  guards,  he  said 

'  How  does  it  happen  that  he  is  at 
Versailles  ?' 

'  Ah  !  Monsieur,'  replied  the  latter, 
'  that  is  a  question  I  have  been  asking 
myself  for  the  last  hour,  and  I  have  not 
yet  been  able  to  comprehend  it  ' 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

THE  QUEEN'S  HUNDRED  LOUIS. 

i 

Now  that  we  have  introduced  to,  or 
i  renewed  the  acquaintance  of  our  read- 
ers, with  the  principle   personages   in 
i  this  history,  now  that  we  have  led  them 
!  to  the   private   dwelling  of   the  Count 
i  d'Artois,  and  to  the  palace  of  King  Lou- 
!  is  XVI,  at  Versailes,  we  will  take  them 
'  back  to  the  house  in  the    Rue   Saint 
< '  and"   into  which  the  queen  of  France 
entered      incognito     and     accompaned 
by  Andree  de  Taverney  climbed   up  to 
the  fifth  story. 

As  soon  as  the  queen  had  disappear- 
ed Madame  de  Lamothe,  as  we  already 
know,  counted  over  and  over  again  the 
hundred    louis,  which   had  so    miracu- 
lously fallen,  as  it  were,  from    heaven. 
Fifty   beautiful    double   louis    each 
worth  forty-eight  livers,  which   spread 
out.  upon  the  miserable  table  and  glisten- 
ing in  the  rays  of  the  lamp  appeared  to 
i  humiliate  by  their  aristocratic  presence, 


78 


THE  QUEEN'S  NECKLACE;  OR,  THE 


the  wretched  furniture  of  the  poverty- 
stricken  garret. 

Next  to  the  pleasure  of  possessing, 
Madame  de  Lamothe  knew  no  greater 
than  that  of  displaying  what  she  pos- 
sessed. Possession  was  nothing  to  her 
if  unaccompanied  by  the  satisfaction  of 
creating  envy  in  others. 

It  had  for  some  time  been  very  re- 
pugnant to  her  feelings  to  be  compelled 
to  make  her  waiting  woman  the  confi- 
dant of  her  misery.  She  therefore  re- 
turned to  mil  ke  her  the  confidant  of  her 
good  fortune. 

She  therefore  called  Dame  Clothilde, 
who  had  remained  in  the  ante-chamber, 
and  placed  the  lamp  in  such  a  position 
as  to  make  the  gold  shine  still  more 
brilliantly. 

4  Clothilde,'  said  she. 

The  waiting  woman  advanced  one 
etep  into  the  chamber. 

'  Come  here,  and  look,'  added  Ma- 
'dame  de  Lamothe. 

'  Oh !  madame,'  exclaimed  the  old 
woman  clasping  her  hands  and  stretch- 
ing out  her  neck. 

'  You  were  uneasy  with  regard  to 
your  wages,'  said  the  Countess. 

4  Oh  !  madame,  J  never  said  a  single 
word  as  to  that.  Indeed,  I  did  ask  you 
madam,  when  you  thought  you  would 
be  able  to  pay  me,  and  that  was  very 
natural  not  having  received  any  thing 
for  three  whole  months.' 

'  Do  you  think  there  is  enough  there 
to  pay  you  ?'  , 

4  Holy  Jesus !  madam,  if  I  had  all 
that,  I  should  think  myself  rich  for  all 
my  life.' 

Madame  de  Lamothe  looked  at  the  old 
woman  and  shrugging  up  her  shoulders 
•with  an  expression  of  indescribable  dis-  i 
dain. 

'  It  is  very  fortunate,'  said  she,  •  that 
certain  persons  have  some  recollection 
of  the  name  I  bear,  while  others  who 
ought  to  remember  it  appear  to  forget 
it  altogether.' 

'  And  what  use  are  you  going  to  make 
of  sill  that  money  ?' 

'  All  sorts  of  uses.' 

•  In  the  first  place,  madam,  the  most 
important  thing  in  my  opinion  is  to  put 
my  kitchen  in  proper  order,  and  buy 
Home  sauce-pans  and  other  articles,  for 
I  suppose  you  mean  to  give  dinners 
now  you  have  so  much  money.' 

'  Hush  !'  said  Madame  de  Lamothe, 
4  there  is  some  one  knocking  ?' 

4  Madam  is  mistaken,'  said  the  old 
woman  who  was  always  very  economi- 
cal of  her  steps. 


4  But  I  tell  you  there  is.' 

'  Oh  !  I  am  quite  sure,  madam.' 

'  Go  and  see.' 

4 1  did  not  hear  any  thing.' 

'  Oh  !  yes,  it  was  the  same  just  now  , 
then  you  heard  nothing.  And  only 
imagine,  if  the  two  ladies  had  gone 
away — ' 

This  reason  appeared  convincing  to 
dame  Clothilde  who  then  moved  to- 
wards the  door. 

'  Do  you  hear  now  ?'  cried  Madame 
de  Lamothe. 

'  Ah !  it  is  true.  I  am  coming !  I  am 
coming  !'  cried  she  in  a  loud  tone  to  the 
person  outside. 

Madame  de  Lamothe  hastened  to 
snatch  up  the  hundred  louis  that  were 
on  the  table,  and  threw  them  into  a 
drawer. 

And  she  murmured  while  closing^  the 
drawer, 

'  Oh !  Providence,  send  me  another 
hundred  louis !' 

And  these  words  were  pronounced 
with  an  expression  of  such  skeptical 
avidity  that  they  would  have  made  Vol- 
taire smile. 

During  this  time  the  door  on  the  land- 
ing had  been  opened  and  the  steps  of  a. 
man  were  heard  in  the  ante-chamber. 

A  few  words  were  exchanged  be- 
tween the  man  and  dame  Clothilde,  of 
which  the  Countess  could  not  catch  the 
meaning. 

Then  the  door  was  again  closed,  steps 
were  heard  descending  the  stair-case 
and  the  old  woman  returned  into  the 
Countess's  room  with  a  letter  in  her 
hand. 

4  There,'  said  she,  handing  the  letter 
to  her  mistress. 

The  Countess  attentively  examined 
the  hand-writing,  the  envelope  and  the 
seal,  then  raising  her  head. 

4  Brought  by  a  servant  ?'  inquired  she. 

4  Yes,  madam.' 

» What  livery  ?' 

4  He  did  not  wear  any.' 

4  A  grison  then  ?'* 

4  Yes.' 

4 1  know  these  arms,'  rejoined  Ma- 
dame de  Lamothe,  again  examining  the 

seal. 

Then   holding  the    seal  close   to   the 

lamp. 

4  Nine   mascles,  or,  on  a    field  gules, 


"The  noblemen  and  gentlemen  of  those  days 
when  employing  ihtir  ueiVints  on  a-j  secret 
commission,  made  them  wear  a  fuit  of  grey 
instead  of  their  liveries.  They  were  termed 
grisons  — [Trans. 


MYSTERIES  OF  THE  COURT  OF  LOUIS  XVI. 


79 


aaid  she,    '  who  is  that   bears  nine  ma 
scles,  or,  on  a  field  gules  ?' 

She  endeavored  for  some  moments 
to  recollect  what  family  bore  these  arms, 
but  uselessly. 

'  But  let  us  see  what  the  letter  says,' 
said  she,  musingly. 

And  having  opened  it  with  great  care 
that  she  might  not  injure  the  seal,  she 
read, 

4  Madam,  the  person  whom  you  have 
solicited  will  be  able  to  see  you  to-mor- 
row evening,  should  you  pe  pleased  to 
open  your  doors  to  him.' 

And  that  was  all. 

The  Countess  again  ransacked  her 
memory. 

.  '  I  have  written  to  so  many  persons,' 
she  said,  4  let  me  see,  now,  to  whom 
have  I  written  ?' 

1  To  everybody.' 

'  Is  it  a  man  or  is  it  a  woman  who  re- 
plies to  me  ?' 

4  The  writing  gives  me  no  clue  ;  it  is 
insignificant,  the  true  hand-writing  of 
a  secretary.' 

'  The  style  ?  it  has  a  protecting  style 
— stupid  and  old.' 

Then  she  repeated, 

4  The  person  whom  you  have  soli- 
cited— ' 

4  The  phrase  has  the  intention  of  be- 
ing humiliating ;  undoubtedly  it  is  from 
a  woman.' 

She  continued : 

*  — will  be  able  to  see  you  to-morrow 
evening  should  you  be  pleased  to  open 
jour  door  to  him.' 

4  A  woman  would  have  said,  you  will 
wait  to-morrow  evening.' 

'  It  must  be  from  a  man — ' 

'  And  yet  those  ladies  yesterday,  they 
came ;  and  they  were  certainly  ladies 
of  high  rank.' 

1  There  is  no  signature  !' 

4  Who  can  it  be  then  who  bears  "nine 
mascles,  or,  on  a  field  gules  .'"  ' 

1  Oh  !'  exclaimed  she  suddenly,  4have 
I  lost  my  wits  ?  Why  the  Rohans  to  be 
sure.' 

4  Yes,  I  wrote  to  M.  de  Gu^menee 
and  to  Mons.  de  Rohan ;  and  one  of 
them  has  replied  to  me,  that  is  quite 
plain.'1 

4  But  the  shield  has  no  quarterings  ! 
the  letter  is  from  the  Cardinal.' 

4  Ah !  the  Cardinal  de  Rohan,  the  gal- 
lant, che  lady-hunter,  the  ambitious ! 
He  will  come  to  see  Madame  de  La- 
mothe,  if  Madame  de  Lamothe  will 
open  her  door  to  him.' 

4  Good  ;  he  may  rest  easy,  the  door 
aha'  be  opened  to  him.' 


4  And  when  ?     To-morrow  evening.' 

She  then  fell  into  a  revery. 

4  A  Sister  of  Charity  who  gives  a 
hundred  louis  to  be  received  in  a  garret, 
she  may  freeze  upon  my  cold  tiles, 
suffer  from  my  chairs  as  hard  as 
the  grid-iron  of  Saint  Lawrence,  though 
without  the  accompaniment  of  fire. 
But  a  prince  of  the  church,  a  man  of 
the  boudoir,  a  lord  of  hearts.  No,  no, 
the  misery  visited  by  such  an  almoner 
must  be  of  a  more  luxurious  nature 
than  many  rich  indulge  in.' 

Then  turning  towards  her  waiting 
woman  who  had  just  finished  preparing 
her  bed, 

4  Good  night,  dame  Clothilde,'  said 
she,  4  but  do  not  forget  to  wake  me  ear- 
ly to-morrow  morning.' 

Thereupon,  doubtless  that  she  might 
be  more  at  liberty  to  meditate,  the 
Countess  made  a  sign  to  the  old  wo- 
man to  leave  her. 

Dame  Clothilde  raked  up  the  embers 
which  had  been  covered  with  ashes  in 
order  to  give  a  more  miserable  appear- 
ance to  tfie  room,  closed  the  door  and 
retired  into  the  loft  in  which  she  slept. 
__  Jeanne  de  Valois  instead  of  sleeping 
was  cogitating  over  her  plans  during 
the  whole  night.  She  made  notes  in 
pencil  by  the  light  of  her  night  lamp  ; 
and  then  having  determined  on  all  she 
had  to  do  the  next  morning,  she  al- 
lowed herself  to  be  overcome  by  sleep, 
which  dame  Clothilde,  who  had  not 
slept  much  more,  disturbed  at  break  of 
day,  attending  faithfully  to  the  orders 
she  had  received. 

Towards  eight  o'clock,  the  Countess 
had  completed  her  toilette,  which  con- 
sisted of  a  very  elegant  silk  gown  and  a 
very  tasteful  head-dress. 

Her  shoes  were  such  as  a  pretty 
woman  and  a  lady  of  rank  ouglft  to 
wear ;  she  wore  a  patch  on  her  left 
cheek;  and  gloves  embroidered  at  the 
wrist. 

She  sent  for  a  species  of  carriage 
very  like  a  wheelbarrow,  to  a  stand 
where  such  locomotives  were  to  be 
found,  that  is  to  say,  in  the  Rue  Pont 
aux  Choux. 

She  would  bave  preferred  a  se^lan- 
chair ;  but  it  would  have  been  neces- 
sary to  send  a  great  distance  to  procure 
one. 

This  wheelbarrow,  a  sort  of  rolling 
chair,  was  dragged  by  a  brawny  Au- 
vergnese,  who  was  ordered  to  convey 
the  Countess  to  the  Place  Royale, 
where,  under  the  arcades  on  the  south- 
ern side,  in  the  ground  floor  of  an  old, 


80 


THE  QUEEN'S  NECKLACE ;    OR,  THE 


abandoned  mansion,  dwelt  M.  Pingret, 
an  upholsterer,  who  kept  large  stores  of 
second-hand  furniture,  which  he  either 
sold  or  let  out  on  hire  at  the  lowest 
prices. 

The  Anvergnese  wheeled  his  fair 
customer  as  rapidly  as  possible  from 
the  Rue  Sainte  Claude  to  the  Place 
Royale. 

Ten  minutes  after  leaving  her  own 
house,  the  Countess  reached  the  ware- 
houses of  Master  Pingret,  where  we 
shall  find  her  presently  in  the  sort  of 
pandemonium  of  which  we  are  about  to 
endeavor  to  give  a  sketch,  admiring  and 
choosing  the  articles  of  which  she  was 
in  quest. 

Let  the  reader  imagine  warehouses 
about  fifiy  feet  in  depth,  by  thirty  feet 
in  width,  and  about  seventeen  in  height; 
upon  the  walls  are  hanging  tapestry  of 
the  time  of  Henri  IV  ind  Lours  XIII; 
from  the  ceiling,  almost  concealed  by 
the  numerous  objects  suspended  from 
it,  such  as  lustres,  with  girondoles  of 
the  seventeenth  century,  side  by  side 
with  stuffed  lizards,  church  lamps,  and 
flying  fish. 

Upon  the  floor  nre  heaped  carpets 
and  matting,  furniture  with  twisted  pil- 
lars and  square  feet,  buffets  of  sculptur- 
ed onk,  Louis  XV"  consoles  with  gilt 
chrws,  sofas  covered  with  rose-colored 
damnsk  or  crimaon  Utrecht  velvet, 
couches,  vast  leathern  e.^y  chairs,  such 
as  Sully  liked,  ebony  warbrooes  with 
panels  in  relief  and  brass  mouldings. 
Boule  tables  with  poroelnin  or  enamelled 
tops,  backgammon  tables,  toilette 
pleleiy  f'l red  up,  bureaux  inluid  with  do- 
signs  of  nr.isical  instruments  or  flower?, 
rends  in  rosewood  or  in  onk, 
with  eatrades  or  canopies,  while  cur- 
tains in  every  -h;i|>e.  of  HV.M-V 
of  every  species  of  stuff,  are  hanging 
pell-mell  in  rich  confusion,  the!,- 
harmonizing  or  contrasting  in  every 
corner  of  the  wareh" 

Harpsichord*,  :-pi  mdn.  hnrps.  lyres, 
and  tin-  dog  Marlborongh  stuffed  with 
straw  ;md  emnriel  eyes. 

.  I'm!  n  tif  every  quality,  silk 
dresses,  side  by  side  with  velvet  coats, 
awojrds  with  hilts  of  steel,  or  silver,  or 
mother  of  pearl. 

Immense    candlesticks,    portraits  of 
ancestors,  framed   engravings  with  nil 
the  imitations  of  Vernet.  then  M>  much 
in  vo<nie — of  thnt  Vernet   to  wlm-i 
que*  f  find  HO  wittily, 

i  msieur  Vernrt,  there 
is  rx  >:tnce  but  you  who  can  at 

•will  ;K     '  in  or  flue  wear: 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

MASTER    PINGRET. 

WE  have  described  all  that  was  se- 
ductive to  the  eyes  and  consequently  to 
the  imagination  of  people  of  small  for- 
tune in  the  warehouses  of  Master  Pin- 
gret,  Place  Roy, 

The  whole  of  these  goods  were  not 
new,  and  the  sign  over  the  door  stated 
this  fnithfully :  but  being  thus  gathered 
into  one  place,  they  gave  additional  va- 
lue the  one  to  the.  o<.her,  and  formed  an 
aggregate  greater  than  even  the  most 
disdainful  purchasers  could  have  re- 
quired. 

Madame  de  Lamothe,  on  being  ad- 
mitted to  examine  nil  these  relics,  for 
the  first  time  perceived  fhtit  which  was 
deficient  at  the  Rue  Sainte  Claude. 

She  would  require  a  drawing-room, 
in  which  to  put  a  sofa,  arm-chaire  and 
settees. 

A  dining-room  for  these  buffet?,  tables 
and  side-tables. 

A  boudoir  for  the  Persian  curtains, 
the  ornamental  tables,  and  the  fire- 
screens. 

And  in  short  another  thing  was  want- 
ing, had  she  even  the  drawing-room, 
dining-room,  and  boudoir,  and  this  was, 
money  to  purchase  the  furniture 'to  put 
nto  this  nice  apartment. 

But  there  has  always  been  an  easy 
mode  of  conducting  negociiitions  with 
the  upholsterers  of  Pans  :  and  wb 
have  never  yet  heard  that  a  young  nttd 
pretty  woman  has  died  on  the  threshold 
of  a  door  which  she  was  unable  to  get 
opened  for  her. 

in  P;iri«  what  ciinnot  be  purchased 
can  be  hired,  and  it  is  ihe  renters  of 
furnished  apartments  who  have  given 
rise  to  the  proverb,  'to  see  is  to  have.' 

^ladame  de  La  Mothe,  in  the  hope  of 
procuring  a  suitable  apartment,  after 
having  measured  some  articles,  looked 
nt  a  net  of  furniture  covered  with  yellow 
silk  which  pleased  her  at  first  sight. 
She  was  a  brunette. 

But  this  set  of  furniture  consisting  of 
ten  pieces  could  never  find  room  in  the 
fifth  story  of  the  rue  Sainte  Claude. 

To  combine  every  thing  properly,  it 
would  be  necessary  to  rent  the  third 
story,  which  consistedof  »  dining-room, 
;m  juite-chamber,  a  small  drawing-room 
and  a  bed-chamber. 

And  by  this  nrnmgement  she  would 
receive  on  the.  third  story  the  alma  of 
cnnK'  fifth  those  of 

the  churitf.'ole  establishments,  th...  is  to 


MYSTERIES  OF  THE  COURT  OF  LOUIS  XVI. 


81 


B«y,  in  luxury  the  alms  of  people  who 
are  charitable  from  ostentation,  and  in 
misery  the  offerings  of  those  more  pre- 
judiced in  their  views  and  who  do  not 
like  to  give  to  such  us  do  not  stand  in 
absolute  need  of  receiving. 

The  Countess  having  settled  her 
plans  turned  her  eyes  towards  the  dark- 
er side  of  the  warehouse,  that  is  t»  say, 
to  the  side  where  the  richest  furniture 
was  stored,  splendid  crystals,  gildings 
and  looking  glasses. 

She  saw  there  standing,  hat  in  hand, 
with  an  important  air  and  rather  a 
mocking  smile,  the  figure  of  a  Parisian 
citizen  who  was  twirling  a  key  between 
his  two  fore  fingers. 

This  worthy  inspector  of  second 
hand  furniture  was  no  less  a  personage 
than  M.  Pingret  himself,  whose  clerks 
had  announced  to  him  the  visit  of  a 
handsome  lady  who  had  come  in  a 
brouette, 

The  same  clerks  might  be  seen  in 
the  court  yard  dressed  in  camlet  or 
coarse  cloth,  their  clothes  being  too 
narrow  and  too  short  for  them,  the  mi- 
nute calves  of  their  legs  exposed  to  the 
air  from  the  large  holes  in  their  hose. 
They  were  occupied  in  renovating  with 
old  furniture,  furniture  that  was  less 
old,  or  to  speak  more  clearly,  in  disem- 
bowelling old  sofas,  arm  chairs  and  set- 
tees, by  pulling  out  the  horse  hair  or 
the  feathers  they  contained  that  they 
might  stutf  their  successors. 

One  of  them  carded  the  hair  gener- 
ously mixing  it  with  tow,  and  with  this 
stuffed  a  new  piece  of  furniture. 

Another  was  varnishing  some  arm 
chairs. 

A  third  was  ironing  out  some  newly 
scoured  stuffs  which  had  been  washed 
with  aromatic  soaps. 

And  with  these  old  ingredients  they 
composed  the  beautiful  second-hand 
furniture  which  Madame  do  La  Muthe 
was  at  that  moment  admiring. 

Monsieur  Pingret  perceiving  that  his 
customer  might  perhaps  see  the  opera- 
tions of  his  clerks  and  get  a  greater  in- 
sight into  the  mode  of  manufacture 
than  was  expedient  with  his  interests, 
closed  a  door  which  opened  on  the 
court  yard, '  for  fear  the  dust  might  blind 
madame'- 


unclasp  his  fingers,   put  his  key  in  his 
pocket,  anfl  approach  the  Countess. 

'  Oh  !'  said  he,  '  then*  is  nothing  here 
which  can  suit  you,  madam.  I  have 
new,  beautiful,  magnificent  furniture, 
you  must  not  my  lady  Countess  ima- 
gine, because  you  are  in  the  Place 
Royale,  that  the  firm  of  Pingret  has  not 
as  good  furniture  as  the  King's  uphols- 
terer. Leave  all  this,  madam,  if  you 
please,  and  let  me  show  you  the  other 
warehouse.' 

Jeanne  blushed. 

All  that  she  had  seen  had  appeared 
very  handsome  to  her,  so  good  indeed 
that  she  did  not  even  hope  to  be  able  to 
o  btain  it. 

Flattered  no  doubt  by  being  so  favor- 
ably considered  by  M.  Pingret,  she 
could  not  avoid  fearing  that  he  consid- 
ered her  but  too  highly. 

She  felt  anndyed  at  her  own  vanity 
and  regretted  that  she  had  not  announc- 
ed herself  as  a  plain  hourgeoise. 

But  a  skilful  mind  knows  how  to  ex- 
tricate itself  even  with  advantage,  from 
the  most  awkward  of  dilemmas. 

'  I  want  nothing  new,  sir,'  said  she, « I 
would  not  have  it.' 

'  Madam  doubtless  wishes  to  furnish 
an  apartment  for  some  friend.' 

'  Precisely  las  you  say,  sir,  an  .apart- 
ment for  a  friend.  Now  you  will 
understand  that  an  apartment  for  a 
friend—  t 

4  Oh  !  certainly.  Take  your  choice, 
madam,'  replied  Pingret,  as  cunning  as 
any  Paris  dealer,  who  would  not  from 
self  love  rather  sell  new  than  old,  pro- 
vided he  can  make  as  much  profit  by 
the  latter. 

'  That  small  set  of  furniture  with  the 
yellow  coverings,  for  example,'  said  the 
Countess. 

'  Oh !  but  that  cannot  be  sufficient, 
madam  there  are  but  ten  pieces.' 

4  The  room  is  but  small,'  replied  the 
Countess. 

*  It  is  quite  new,  as  you  may  perceive, 
madam.' 

'  New — yes,  for  second-hand.' 

'  Undoubtedly,'  replied  Pingret, 
laughing,  '  but,  such  as  it  is,  it  is  worth 
eight  hundred  Hvres.' 

This  price  made  the  Countess  start ; 
how  could  she  acknowledge  that  the 


He    stopped   short  on   uttering  this  j  heiress  of  the  Valois  could  be  satisfied 
madame  which  made  it  a  sort  of  inter-    with  second-hand  furniture  and  could 


not  pay  eight  hundred  livres  for  it. 
She  therefore  thought  it  fitting  to  ap- 


rogatory. 

•  Madame  la  Comtesse  de  La  Mothe 
Volois,'  negligently  replied  Jeanne.         i  pear  angry. 

On  hearing  this  high  sounding  title,  j      •  But,'  she  exclaimed,  '  no  one  is  talk- 
11.  Pingret  was  seen   immediately  to   ing  to  you  of  purchasing,  sir.      How 
11 


THE  QUEEN'S  NECKLACE;  OR,  THE 


could  you  imagine  that  I  would  purchase 
this  old  trumpery.  The  point  in  ques- 
tion is  to  hire,  and  besides — ' 

Pingret.made  a  wry  face,  for  insen- 
sibly the  speculation  was  diminishing 
in  value.  He  &ad  no  longer  to  hope 
that  he  would  sell  new  nor  even  second- 
hand furniture  ;  .it  had  dwindled  down 
to  hiring. 

'  You  wish  to  have  all  that  furniture 
with  the  yellow  silk  cushions,'  said  he, 
'is  it  for  a  year?' 

'  No,  for  a  month.  It  is  for  a  country 
friend  of  mine.' 

'  It  will  be  a  hundred  livres  a  month, 
said  Master  Pingret. 

'  You  are  jesting,  I  should  suppose, 
for  at  that  calculation,  at  the  end  of  eight 
months  the  whole  value  of  the  furniture 
would  be  paid.' 
'Agreed,  madam.' 
4  Well,  and  what  then  ?'  ' 
1  Why  then,  madam,  if  it  belonged  to 
you  it  would  no  longer  belong  to  me, 
and  consequently  I  should  not  have  to 
trouble  myself  about  renovating  it,  fresh- 
ening it  up,  all  which  costs  money.' 
.       Madame  de  Lamothe  reflected. 

'  A  hundred  livres  for  a  month,'  said 
she  to  herself,  '  that  is  a  great  deal,  but 
let  us  consider ;  either  it  will  be  too 
dear  in  a  month,  and  then  ,-I  return  the 
articles,  and  the  upholsterer  will  form  a 
great  opinion  of  me,  or  in  a  month  I 
may  be  able  to  order  completely  new 
furniture  ;  I  thought  of  laying  out  five 
or  six  hundred  livres,  let  us  do  things 
grandly  and  spend  three  hundred.' 

'  I  will  take,'  she  said  aloud,  '  the  yel- 
low furniture  for  a  drawing  room,  with 
curtains  to  match.' 
'  Yes  madam.' 
'  And  the  caipets  ?' 
'  Here  they  are.' 

'  What  can  you  give  me  for  another 
room?' 

'  These  green  seats,  that  large  oaken 
press,  that  table  with  twisted  logs,  and 
green  damask  curtains.' 

'  Very  well ;  and  for  a  bed  room.' 
'  A  large  and  handsome  bed,  with  ex- 
cellent  feather  bed  and   mattresses,  a 
counterpane  of  velvet  embroidered  in 
rose  -color  and    silver,  blue    curtains, 
chimney  ornaments   of   rather   gothic 
fashion,  but  very  richly  gilt.' 
'  A  toilette  table  ?' 

'  Ornamented  with  real  Mechlin  lace. 
Look  at  it,  madam.  A  chest  of  drawers 
of  beautifully  inlaid  wood,  of  very  deli- 
cate design,  chitVonier  to  mutch,  a  sofu 
covered  with  tapestry,  with  chairs  of 
the  same  patterns  elegant  chimney  or- 


naments,  which  belonged  to  the  bed 
chamber  of  Madame  de  Pompadour,  at 

/"ii        •  *  * 

C  noisy.' 

'  And  the  price  of  all  this  ?' 
'For  one  month?' 
'  Yes.' 

'  Four  hundred  livres.' 
'  Come  now,  Monsieur  de  Pingret,  I 
beg  you  will  not  take  me  for  a  grisette. 
People  of  my  quality  are  not  to  be  daz- 
zled with   merely  shining  colors.     Be 
pleased  to    consider,  I  beg  of  you  that 
four  hundred  livres  a  month  amounts  to 
four  thousand  and  eight  hundred  livres 
a  year,  and  that  for  such  a  price  I  could 
hire  an  hotel  completely  furnished.' 
Master  Pingret  scratched  his  ear. 
'  Your   mode   of   acting  completely 
disgusts  me  with  the  place  Royal,'  con- 
tinued the  Countess. 

'  That  would  really  cause  me  much 
regret,  madam.' 

'  Well  then  prove  what  you  say  at 
once.  I  will  not  give  more  than  three 
hundred  livres  for.  the  whole  of  the  fur- 
niture.' 

Jeanne  pronounced   these  last  words 
with  so  much  authority,  that  the  dealer 
could  not  help  thinking  of  the  future. 
'  Well  madam,  he  it  so,'  said  he. 
'  And  on  one   condition,   master  Pin- 
gret.' 

'  And  what  is  that,  madam?' 
•  It  is,  that  every  thing  shall  be  deliv- 
ered and  properly  arranged  in  the  apart- 
ments I  shall  point  out  to  you,  between 
this  time  and  three  o'clock  this  after 
noon.' 

'  It  is  now  ten  o'clock,  madam  ;  pray 
consider  'that ;  it  is  now  striking  ten.' 

'  Well,  you  have  only  to  say,  yes,  or 
no.' 

Where  must  it  be  taken  madam  ?' 
To  the    Rue   Saint   Claude   in    the 
Marais.' 

Oh !  that  is  only  two  steps  from 
this  ?' 

'  Precisely.' 

The  upholsterer  opened  the  door  in- 
to the  yard  calling  out :  Sylvain  !  Lan- 
dry  I  Re,my.  Three  of  his  apprentices 
ran  in  delighted  at  having  un  excuse 
for  leaving  their  dusty  work,  and  a  pre- 
text for  seeing  the  handsome  lady. 

'  The  hand-barrows,  my  lads  and  two 
or  three  trucks.' 

'  Remy  you  will  load  the  furniture 
with  yellow  cushions.  Sylvain  take 
charge  of  that  for  the  ante-chamber; 
and  you.  Landry,  as  you  are  a  careful 
fellow,  will  look  to  -the  things  for  the 
bed-room.' 

'  We  will  now  make  out  the  list,  ma 


MYSTERIES  OF  THE  COURT  OF  LOUIS  XVI. 


dam,  and  if  you  please  I  will  sign  a  re- 
ceipt.' 

'  Here  are  six  double  and  one  single 
Jouis,'  said  the  Countess,  '  give  me  die 
change.' 

'  Here  are  two  crown  pieces  of  six 
livres  each,  madam.' 

'  Of  which  I  will  give  one  to  these 
young  men,  if  they  do  their  work  prop- 
erly,' said  theCountess. 

And  having  given  her  address,  she 
hurried  off  to  her  wheeled  chair. 

In  an  hour  from  that  time  she  had 
hired  the  apartment  on  the  third  story, 
and  two  hours  had  ndt  elapsed  before 
the  drawing-room,  the  ante-chamber 
and  the  bed-room  were  being  simulta- 
neously furnished. 

The  six  livres  piece  was  earned  by 
Messrs.  Landry,  Remy  and  Sylvain 
within  ten  minutes  of  the  time  proposed. 

The  apartment  thus  transformed,  the 
windows  cleaned,  and  good  fires  lighted 
in  every  room,  Jeanne  seated  herself 
at  her  toilette-toble  and  for  two  hours 
enjoyed  the  satisfaction  of  placing  her 
feet  on  a  good  thick  carpet,  of  feeling 
herself  surrounded  by  well  furnished 
walls  in  a  comfortable  warm  atmos- 
phere, and  of  inhaling  the  perfume  of 
some  gilly-flowers  whose  stems  were 
bathing  themselves  joyously  in  japan 


vases,  their   heads 
of  the  apartment. 


in  the  warm   vapor 


Master  Pingret  had  not  forgotten  the 
gilded  candelabra  for  wax  lights  ;  on 
each  side  of  the  looking-glasses  were 
lusties  of  glass  girandoles  which  when 
lighted  up,  radiated  with  all  the  colors 
of  the  rainbow. 

Fire,  flowers,  rose  colored  perfumed 
wax  lights,  Jeanne  omitted  nothing  to 
embellish  the  paradise  which  she  had 
destined  to  his  Eminence. 

She  even  took  care  that  the  door  of 
the  bed-chamber  should  be  coquettishly 
left  half  open,  giving  a  view  of  the  fire- 
place in  which  was  burning  a  soft  red 
fire,  the  reflection  of  which  darted  up- 
on the  gilded  feet  of  the  arm-chairs, 
the  bedstead  and  the  chimney  orna- 
ments of  Madame  de  Pompadour,  heads 
of  Chimeras  upon  which  the  lovely  feet 
of  the  Marchioness  had  so  often  rested. 

But  Jeanne's  coquetry  was  not  limit- 
ed to  this. 

If  the  blazing  fire  brought  out  in  re- 
lief the  interior  of  this  mysterious 
chamber,  if  the  perfumes  revealed  the 
woman,  the  woman  herself  revealed 
high  birth,  beauty,  a  mind,  a  taste, 
worthy  of  his  Eminence. 


so  much  elegance  and  care,  that  M.  de 
La  Mothe  her  absent  husband  might 
have  required  some  explanation  on  the 
subject. 

The  woman  was  worthy  of  the  apart- 
ment and  of  the  furniture  hired  of 
master  Pingret. 

After  a  slight  repast,  for  she  would 
not  indulge  too  much  in  order  that  she 
might  retain  all  her  powers  of  mind, 
and  not  endanger  the  elegant  palor  of 
her  features,  Jeanne  threw  herself  in- 
to a  large  easy  chair  by  the  fire -side  in 
her  bed-room. 

With  a  book  in  her  hand  and  one  foot 
upon  a  stool,  she  waited  anxiously,  list- 
ening at  once  to  the  pendulum  of  the 
clock  and  the  distant  rumbling  of  car- 
riages which  very  seldom  troubled  the 
tranquillity  of  that  deserted  quarter  of 
the  town. 

She  waited ;  the  clock  struck  nine, 
ten,  eleven,  and  no  one  came  either  in 
a  carriage  or  on  foot. 

'  Eleven  o'clock  !  and  that  is  the  hour 
for  gallant  prelates  who  have  sharpened 
their  charity  by  a  supper  in  the  su- 
burbs, and  who,  having  only  twenty 
turns  of  their  carriage  wheels  to  perform 
in  order  to  reach  the  Rue  Saint  Claude, 
congratulate  th  emselves  on  being  at 
once  humane,  philanthropic  and  reli- 
gious with  so  "little  trouble. 

Midnight  resounded  lugubriously  from 
the  steeple  of  the  Filles  du  Calvaire ; 
but  no  prelate,  no  carriage.  The  wax- 
lights  began  to  wane,  some  of  them 
were  already  overflowing  with  diaphon- 
ous  flakes  their  gilded  stands. 

The  fire,  renewed  with  many  sighs, 
was  now  reduced  to  ashes.  The  heat 
of  the  two  rooms  was  perfectly  Afri- 
can. 

The  old  servant  who  had  dressed  her- 
self out  in  her  best,  grumbled  with  re- 
gret at  the  damage  "to  her  Sunday  cap, 
decked  with  glaring  ribbands  and  which, 
bending  with  her  head  as  she  every 
now  and  then  nodded  drowsily  over  a 
wax-light  in  the  ante-chamber,  did  not 
recover  an  erect  position  without  being 
somewhat  injured  by  the  caresses  of 
the  flame,  or  soiled  by  the  contact  of 
the  liquid  wax. 

At  half-past  twelve  Jeanne  rose  in 
great  fury  from  her  easy  chair,  which 
during  the  evening  she  hud  left  at  least 
a  hundred  times  to  open  the  window 
and  gaze  along  the  dimly  lighted  street. 

The  whole  neighborhood  was  as  tran- 
quil as  before  the  creation  «f  the  world* 

She  called    Cloihilde  to  undress  her, 


Jeanne'  s  toilette  wab   arranged  with  I  refused   to   take   any   supper,  and  dis- 


THE  QUEEN'S  NECKLACE ;    OR,  THE 


missed  the  old  woman  whose  questions 
bettame  irksome  to  her. 

Left  alone  amid  her  silken  draperies, 
her  fine  curtains  and  in  a  luxurious  bed, 
she  did  nor  sleep  better  than  on  the 
previous  night,  fofr  the  night  before  her 
watching  was  more  happy,  it  had  been 
cradled  by  hope. 

However,  by  dint  of  turning  and 
twisting  and  steeling  her  mind  against 
this  untoward  event,  Jeanne  at  length 
hit  upon  a  reason  for  excusing  the  Car- 
dinal. 

'  In  the  first  place  that  he  was  a  Car- 
dinal, Grand  Almoner  of  the  Court,  that 
he  had  a  thousand  exciting  affairs,  and 
consequently  of  more  importance  than 
a  visit  to  the  rue  Saint  Claude.' 

And  then  there  was  another  excuse. 

'  He  does  not  knoto  the  little  Coun- 
tess de  Valois,'  an  excuse  which  was 
very  consoling  to  Jeanne's  vanity  ;  as- 
suredly she  would  have  been  incon- 
solable if  M.  de  Rohan  had  failed  in 
his  promise  after  paying  her  a  first 
visit. 

This  reason  with  which  Jeanne  con- 
soled herself  needed  a  proof  in  order  to 
ascertain  its  validity. 

Jeanne  could  restrain  herself  no 
longer ;  she  instantly  jumped  out  of 
bed  and  lighted  the  wax  candles  by  the 
night  lamp,  and  with  no  other  dress 
thfen  her  white  bed-gown,  went  to  the 
lofcking-glass  and  there  during  some 
time  examined  herself  attentively. 

After  this  examination,  she  smiled, 
blevfr  out  the  wax-lights  and  again  be- 
took herself  to  bed. 

The  last  excuse  was  a  good  one. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

THE  CARDINAL  DE  ROHAIt. 


next  day,  Jeanne,  without  any 
feeling  of  discouragement,  once  more 
arranged  her  apartment  with  great 
care,  find  dressed  herself  with  the  same 
elegance  as  before. 

Her  glass  had  assured  her  M.  de  Ro- 
han would  come,  if  he  had  ever  heard 
heir  spoken  of. 

It  was  just  striking  seven  o'clock,  "and 
the  drawing-room  fire  Was  burning  with 
great  brilliancy,  When  she  heard  a  car- 
riage  rolling  down  the  rne  St.  Claude. 

Jeanne  had  not  even  had  time  enough 
to  place  herse'lf  at  the  window  and  to 
become  impatient. 

From  this  carriage   alighted   a   Man 


muffled  up  in  a  large  great  cont ;  theo 
the  door  of  the  house  being  closed  after 
admitting  this  man,  the  carriage  drove 
into  a  small  by-street  there  to  await  the 
return  of  its  master. 

Soon,  Madam9  de  La  Mothe  heard 
the  bell  ring,  and  her  heart  beat  with 
such  violence  that  its  pulsations  might 
have  been  heard. 

But  ashamed  of  yielding  to  such  un- 
seasonable emotion,  Jeanne  commanded 
her  heart  to  remain  silent,  arranged 
some  embroidery  upon  the  table,  placed 
a  new  air  upon  her  harpischord,  and  a 
newspaper  on  the  corner  of  the  chim- 
ney-piece. 

In  a  few  seconds  dame  Clothilde  came 
in  and  announced  to  the  Countess  : 

'  The  person  who  had  written  the 
day  before  yesterday.' 

'  Ask  him  to  step  in,'  replied  Jeanne. 

A  light  step,  creaking  shoes,  a  hand- 
some person  dressed  in  silk  and  velvet, 
carrying  his  head  erect  and  appearing 
ten  feet  high  in  this  small  apartment, 
such  was  the  personage  presented  to 
Jeanne's  view  on  rising  to  receive  him. 

She  had  been  disagreeably  impressed 
by  the  incognito  which  this  personage 
had  retained ;  therefore  decided  upon 
taking  all  the  advantage  which  previous 
reflection  had  given  her. 

'  To  whom  have  I  the  honor  of  speak- 
ing ?'  said  she,  with  a  curtsey,  not  of  a 
person  protected  but  a  protectress. 

The  prince  looked  at  the  drawing- 
room  door  through  which  dame  Clo- 
thilde had  disappeared. 

4 1  am  the  Cardinal  de  Rohan,'  he  re- 
plied. 

Upon  which  Madame  de  La  Mothe 
feigning  to  brash  and  quite  abashed  by 
her  humility,  made  another  curtsey  as 
reverential  as  if  it  had  been  to  the  king. 

Then  she  drew  forward  an  arm- 
chair, and  instead  of  seating  herself 
upon  a  common  chair  as  etiquette  re- 
quired, she  threw  herself  back  into  the 
one  she  had  already  occupied. 

The  Cardinal  perceiving  this  free  and 
easy  mode  of  operation,  placed  his  hat 
upon  the  table  and  looking  at  Jeanne 
full  in  the  face  as  she  did  at  him. 

'  It  is  then  true,  mademoiselle — '  said 
he. 

'Madame,'  snid  Jeanne,  interrupting 
him. 

'I  beg  your  pardon  ;  I  had  foi gotten. 
It  is  then  true,  madurne  -' 

1  My  husband  is  culled  the  Count  de 
La  Mothe,  Monseigneur.' 

'  Precisely,  precisely— -a  gendarme  of 
the  king  or  the  queen.' 


MYSTERIES  OF  THE  COURT  OF  LOUIS  XVI. 


85 


'Yes,  Monseigneur.' 

,'  And  you,  madam,'  said  he,  'you are 
born  a  Valois.' 

'  Yes,  Monseigneur.' 

1  A  great  name  !'  observed  the  Car- 
dinal,  placing  one  knee  over  the  other, 
•a  rare  name,  extinct.' 

Jeanne  guessed  the  doubt  insinuated 
by  the  Cardinal. 

1  Oh  !  no  Monseigneur,  not  extinct, 
since  I  bear  it,  and  have  a  brother  who 
is  Baron  de  Valois.' 

'  Acknowledged  ?' 

4  It  is  not  necessary  that  it  should  be 
acknowledged,  Monseigneur ;  my  broth- 
er may  be  rich  or  poor,  but  he  would  still 
be  what  he  was  born,  Baron  de  Valois.' 

1  Will  you,  madam,  be  pleased  to  re- 
laty  to  me  this  descent  ?  You  interest 
me,  I  have  a  taste  for  heraldry.' 

Jeanne  related  plainly,  and  with  in- 
difference, that  which  the  reader  al- 
ready knows. 

The  Cardinal  looked  and  listened. 

He  did  not  take  the  trouble  to  con- 
ceal his  impressions.  What  end  would 
it  have  served  ?  He  did  not.  believe 
either  in  the  merit  of  Jeanne  or  her 
rank ;  he  thought  her  pretty  and  poor  ; 
he  looked  at  her  and  that  sufficed. 

Jeanne,  who  was  alive  to  everything, 
perceived  the  unfavorable  opinion  which 
her  future  protector  had  formed. 

'  So  that,'  said  M.  de  Rohan,  negli- 
gently, '  you  have  really  been  un- 
happy ?' 

'  I  do  not  complain,  Monseigneur.' 

'  In  fact,  the  difficulties  of  your  posi- 
tion were  much  exaggerated  to  me  by 
my  informant.' 

He  looked  around  him. 

•This  lodging  is  commodious,  and  very 
agreeably  furnished.' 

•  For  a  grisette,  undoubtedly,'  replied 
Jeanne,  harshly,  impatient  to  begin  the 
Attack.  '  Oh !  yes,  Monseigneur.' 

The  Cardinal  made  a  gesture  of  sur- 
prise. 

'What,'  cried  he,  'do  you  call  this 
furniture  the  furniture  of  a  grisette  ?' 

'  I  do  not  imagine,  Monseigneur,'  she 
said,  '  that  you  can  call  it  the  furniture 
of  a  princess.' 

'  And  you  are  a  princess,'  said  he, 
with  that  almost  imperceptible  tone  of 
irony,  which  only  persons  of  very  dis- 
tinguished wit.  or  of  high  rank  have  the 
secret  of  mingling  with  their  language, 
without  becoming  altogether  imperti- 
nent. 

'  I  was  born  a  Valois,  Monseigneur, 
as  you  were  born  a  Kohnn',  and  that  is 
all  I  know. 


And  these  words  were  pronounced 
with  that  mild  majesty  of  offended  mi- 
sery— the  majesty  of  a  woman  who  feel* 
she  is  not  duly  appreciated  ;  they  were 
at  once  so  harmonious  and  so  dignified, 
that  the  prince  was  not  wounded  in  his 
self  love,  and  the  feeling  s  of  the  man 
were  moved. 

•  Madam,'  said  he,  '  I  have  not  re- 
membered that  my.  first  word  to  you. 
ought  to  have  been  an  apology.  I  wrote 
to  you  that  I  should  be  here  yesterday, 
but  I  wns  detained  at  Versailles  on  ac- 
count of  the  reception  of  M.  de  Suffren. 
I  was  therefore  compelled  to  forego  the 
pleasure  of  paying  you  a  visit.' 

'  You  do  me  but  too  much  honor, 
Monseigneur,  in  having  thought  of  me 
to-day,  and  the  Count  de  La  Mothe,  my 
husband,  will  the  more  poignantly  re- 
gret the  exile  to  which  our  misery  con- 
demns him,  since  that  exile  prevents 
him  from  enjoying  so  illustrious  a  pre- 
sence.' 

The  word  husband  attracted  the  in- 
tention of  the  Cardinal. 

'  You  live  alone,  madam  ?'  said  he. 

'Completely  so,  Monseigneur.' 

«  That  is  praiseworthy  in  a  young  and 
pretty  woman.' 

1  It  is  very  natural,  Monseigneur,  in 
a  woman  who  would  feel  herself  out  of 
her  place  in  every  other  society,  ex- 
cepting that  from  which  her  poverty 
estranges  her.' 

The  Cardinal  remained  silent  for  a 
moment. 

'  It  appears,'  rejoined  he,  '  that  the 
genealogists  do  not  dispute  you  genea- 
logy ?' 

'And  in  what  does  that  avail  me  ?' 
said  Jeanne,  disdainfully,  and  raising 
with  a  charming  gesture  the  small  pow- 
dered ringlets  on  her  temples. 

The  Cardinal  drew  his  arm-chair 
nearer,  as  for  the  purpose  of  placing  his 
feet  nearer  to  the  fire. 

'  Madam,'  said  he,  •  I  have  wished, 
and  still  wish,  to  know  in  what  I  can  be 
useful  to  you.' 

'  Why,  in  nothing,  Monseigneur.' 

'  How,  in  nothing?' 

1  Your  eminence  certainly  overwhelm* 
me  with  honor.' 

'  Let  us  speak  more  frankly.' 

'  I  know  not  how  I  can  be  more  frank 
than  I  now  am,  Monseigneur.' 

'You  were  complaining  just  now,' 
said  the  Cardinal,  looking  around  him, 
as  if  to  remind  Jeanne  of  what  she  had 
said  with  regard  to  the  griscltc  furni- 
ture. 

>  Undoubtedly,  I  did  complain.' 


THE  QUEEN'S  NECKLACE;  OR,  THE 


•  Well  then,  madam — * 

•  Well  then,  monseigneur,  I  see  that 
your  Eminence  wishes  to  give   me  an 
alms,  is  it  not  so  ?' 

'Oh  !  madam — ' 

1  'Tis  neither  more  nor  less,  I  have 
received  alms,  but  I  will  no  longer  re- 
ceive them.' 

•  What  can  you  mean  ?' 

•  Monseigneur,  for  some  time  past  I 
have  been  sufficiently  humiliated  ;  it  is 
not  possible  that  I  can  endure  it  longer.' 

'  Afadam,  you  misconstrue  the  mean- 
ing of  words.  When  in  misfortune  a 
person  is  not  dishonored — ' 

•Not  even  with  the  name  I  bear? 
tell  me  now  would  you  beg,  Monsieur 
de  Rohan  ?' 

'I  am  not  speaking  of  myself,'  replied 
the  Cardinal,  with  somewhat  of  con- 
fusion mingled  with  hauteur. 

•  Monseigneur,  I   know  but  of  two 
ways  of  asking  alms ;  in  a  carriage  or 
at  the  door  of  a  church,  in  gold  and  vel- 
vet, or  in  rags.     Well,  then!  just  now 
I  did  not  expect  the  honor  of  your  visit. 
I  thought  myself  forgotten.' 

'  Ah  !  then,  you  knew  that  it  was  I 
who  had  written  ?'  said  the  Cardinal. 

4 Did  I  not  see  your  arms  upon  the 
seal  of  the  letter  which  you  did  me  the 
honor  to  address  to  me  ?' 

4  And  yet  you  feigned  not  to  recog- 
nize me  ?' 

'  Because  you  did  not  do  'me  tho 
honor  to  allow  yourself  to  be  announced 
by  name.' 

'  Well !  this  pride  pleases  me,'  eager- 
ly exclaimed  the  Cardinal,  looking  with 
complacency  at  the  animated  eyes  and 
haughty  countenance  of  the  Countess. 

4 1  was  saying,  then,'  rejoined  the 
latter,  'that,  before  seeing  you,  I  had 
formed  the  resolution  of  I  In-owing  aside 
this  miserable  mantle  which  conceals 
my  wretchedness  ami  to  jjo  forth  in  rags 
like  every  Christian  mendicant  mid  beg 
my  bread,  not  from  the  pride  but  from 
the  clmrily  of  each  passer  by.' 

'  You  have  not  I  trust  exhausted  all 
your  resources,  madam  ?' 

Jeanne  made  no  reply. 

'  You  have  some  estate  left,  even 
though  it  may  be  mortgaged ;  some 
family  jewels  ?  This  one  for  exam- 
ple.' 

He  pointed  to  a  box  with  which  the 
vrhitb  and  delicate  fingers  of  the  young 
woman  had  boen  playing. 

'This  ?'  cried  she. 

4  A  very  singular  box,  upon  my  wprd,' 
•aid  he.  '  Will  you  allow  me?' 

Ho  took  it. 


'  Ah !  a  portrait  .* 

And  he  made  a  movement  of  sur- 
prise. 

'  Do  you  know  the  original  of  that 
.portrait  ?'  inquired  Jeanne. 

'  It  is  the  portrait  of  Maria  Theresa.' 

'Of  Maria  Theresa?' 

'  Yes,  the  Empress  of  Austria.' 

'Really!'  exclaimed  Jeanne.  'Do 
you  believe  it  is  so,  Monseigneur  ?' 

The  Cardinal  examined  the  box  with 
more  earnest  attention. 
4  Where  did  you  get  this  ?'  inquired  he. 

'  From  a  lady  who  came  here  the  day 
before  yesterday.' 

'  To  your  house  ?' 

'  To  my  house.' 

4  From  a  lady?'  f 

And  the  Cardinal  looked  at  it  again 
still  more  eagerly. 

4 1  am  mistaken,  Monseigneur;'  re- 
joined the  Countess,  4I  should  have  said 
two  ladies.' 

'And  one  of  the  two  ladies  gave  you* 
this  box?'  inquired  he,  mistrustfully. 

4  No ;  she  did  not  give  it  to  me.' 

4  How  then  did  it  come  into  your  pos- 
session ?' 

'She  left  it  here  accidentally.' 

Tlie  Cardinal  remained  pensive,  ao 
pensive  that  the  Countess  de  Va- 
lois  was  puzzled,  and  thought  it  would 
be  better  that  she  should  be  on  her 
guard. 

Then  the  Cardinal  raised  his  head, 
and  looking  attentively  at  the  Countess, 
said  : 

•  And  what  is  the  name  of  that  lady  ? 
you   will  pardon  me,  will  you  not,   for 
addressing   such  a   question  to   you ;  I 
am,  myself,    quite  ashamed  of  it,  for  it 
appears  to   me  that   I  am  playing   the 
part  of  a  judge.' 

'In  fact  Monseigneur,'  said  Madame 
de  La  Mothe,  '  the  question  is  a  strange 
one.' 

4  Indiscreet,  perhaps  ;  but  strange — ' 
'Strange;    I  repeat  the  word.     If  I 
had  known  the  lady   who  left  this  com- 
fit box—' 

•  \Veii  r 

4 1  should  already  have  sent  it  back  to 
her*  No  doubt  she  values  it,  and  I 
would  not  repay  her  gracious  visit  by 
causing  her  anxiety  during  eight  and 
forty  hours.' 

4  Then  you  do  not  know  her  ? — 

4  No,  all  that  I  know  is,  that  she  is 
the  superior  of  a  charitable  institution.' 

4ln  Paris  ?' 

4  In  Versailles.' 

'In  Versailles — the  superior  of  a 
1  charitable  institution — ?' 


MYSTERIES  OF  THE  COURT  OF  LOUIS  XVI. 


87 


•  Monseigneur,  I  accept  from  women ; 
women  do  not  humiliate  a  poor  lady  by 
affording   her  assistance,  and  this  lady, 
whom  charitable  persons  had  informed 
of  my  position,    placed  a  hundred  louis 
on  my  chimney  piece   when  she  paid 
me  a  visit.'  • 

'  A  hundred  louis  !'  cried  the  Cardi- 
nal with  surprise  ;  and  then  fearing 
that  h'e  might  wound  Jeanne's  suscept- 
ibility, who  had  in  fact  made  an  indig- 
nant gesture. 

'Pardon  me,  madam,'  said  he,  'I  am 
not  astonished  that  this  sum  was  given 
you,  you  are  on  the  contrary  deserving 
of  all  the  solicitude  of  charitable  per- 
sons, and  your  birth  renders  it  a  duty 
on  their  part  to  be  useful  to  you.  It 
is  merely  the  title  of  lady  of  charity, 
that  astonishes  me;  ladies  of  charity 
are  in  the  habit  of  bestowing  lighter 
alms.  Could  you  not  trace  me  the 
portrait  of  that  lady,  Countess  ?' 

'  With  difficulty,  Monseigneur,'  re- 
plied Jeanne,  to  sharpen  the  curiosity 
of  her  questioner. 

•  How  can   it  be  difficult,    since  you 
say  that  she  came  here  ?' 

1  Undoubtedly.  This  lady,  who  proba- 
bly did  not  wish  to  be  recognized,  con- 
cealed her  face  in  a  rather  capacious 
hood  ;  besides  which  she  was  muffled 
up  in  furs.  However — ' 

The  Countess  appeared  to  be  remem- 
bering. 

'  However,'  repeated  the  Cardinal. 

•  I  thought  I  saw — but  I  do  not  affirm 
it,  Monseigneur.' 

'  What  did  you  think  you  saw  ?' 

4  That  she  had  blue  eyes.' 

.'Her  mouth  ?' 

1  Small,  although  her  lips  were  rather 
thick,  the  lower  one  particularly.' 

'  Tall  or  of  middling  height  ?' 

'  Of  middling  height.' 

'  Her  hands  ?' 

'Beautiful.' 

'Her  neck?' 

4  Long  and  thin.' 

'  Her  countenance  ?' 

'  Rather  austere  and  noble." 

'  Her  accent?' 

'  Somewhat  embarrassed.  But  you 
perhaps  are  acquainted  with  this  lady, 
Monseigneur  ?' 

1  How  can  you  imagine  that  I  should 
know  her  madam  ?'  exclaimed  the  pre- 
late sharply. 

'  Why,  from  the  mode  in  which  you 
question  me,  Monseigneur ;  or  even 
from  the  sympathy  which  the  doers  of 
good  works  always  feel  towards  each 
other.' 


4  No,  madam,  no ;  I  do  not  know 
her.' 

'And  yet,    Monseigneur,   you  might 
have  some  idea — ' 
.'And  from  what  circumstance?' 

'  Suggested  by  that  portrait,  for  ex- 
ample.' 

'  Ah  !'  eagerly  exclaimed  the  Cardi- 
nal, who  feared  that  he  had  allowed  too 
much  to  be  suspected, .  '  yes  certainly, 
that  portrait — •' 

'  Well  then  !  that  portrait,  Monseig- 
neur?' 

•  Oh  !  that  portrait  still  appears  to  me 
to  be  that  of-—' 

'  Of  the  Empress  Maria  Theresa,  is 
it  not  so  ?' 

'  Why  I  really  cannot  but  believe  it.' 

'  Then  you  think — ' 

'I  think  you  have  received  a  visit 
from  some  German  ladies,  who  have 
themselves  founded  a  charitable  institu- 
tion.' 

4  At  Versailles.' 

•  Yes,  madam,  at  Versailles.' 

And  the  Cardinal  said  nothing  more. 

But  it  was  clearly  to  be  perceived  that 
he  still  doubted,  and  that  the  presence 
of  that  box  in  the  apartment  of  the 
Countess  had  renewed  all  his  mistrust. 

But  there  was  one  thing  which 
Jeanne  could  not  comprehend,  and  this 
was  the  foundation  of  the  Prince's  sus- 
picions ;  suspicions  which  were  evi- 
dently unfavorable  to  her,  and  which 
went  even  so  far  as  to  make  him  believe 
that  she  was  spreading  a  snare  for  him 
under  false  appearances. 

And  indeed  any  one  might  have 
known  the  interest  which  the  Cardinal 
took  in  the  queen's  affairs ;  it  was  a 
court  rumor  which  was  far  from  hav- 
ing remained  even  a  whispered  secret, 
and  we  have  already  adverted  to  the 
industrious  efforts  of  certain  enemies 
to  keep  up  the  animosity  which  existed 
between  the  queen  and  her  grand  al- 
moner. 

That  portrait  of  Maria  There> 
box  which  the  queen  constantly  carried 
with  her,  and  which  the  Cardinal  had 
seen  her  use  a  hundred  times — that  he 
should  now  find  it  in  fthe  hands  of 
Jeanne  the  mendicant! 

Had  the  queen  really  visited  that 
poor  apartment  ? 

And  if  she  had  in  fact  been  there, 
had  she  remained  unknown  to  Jeanne  ? 
Had  the  latter  from  any  motive  what- 
soever concealed  the  honor  which  had 
thus  been  done  to  her  ? 

The  prelate  doubted  ;  he  had  already 
doubted  the  da}'  before.  The  name  of 


88 


THE  QUEEN'S  NECKLACE :  OR,  THE 


Valois  had  cautioned  him  to  be  upon  his 
guard,  and  now,  the  question  regarded 
not  a  poor  penniless  woman,  but  a  Prin- 
cess relieved  by  a  queen,  who  person- 
ally had  conferred  her  benefits. 

Was  Marie  Antoinette  charitable  to 
such  a  degree  as  this  ? 

While  the  Cardinal  was  thus  doubt- 
ing and  surmising,  Jeanne,  who  kept 
her  eyes  constantly  upon  him  ;  Jeanne, 
whom  not  a  feeling  of  the  Prince  es- 
caped; Jeanne  was  in  perfect  agony. 
It  is  undoubtedly  a  perfect  martyrdom  to 
a  conscience,  having  some  hidden  view, 
to  find  the  persons  whom  it  is  wished 
to  convince  by  the  actual  truth  doubt- 
ing on  subjects  where  there  is  no 
ground  for  suspicion. 

The  silence  became  embarrassing  for 
both ;  the  Cardinal  was  the  first  to 
break  it  by  a  new  question. 

•  And  did  you  remark  the  lady  who 
accompanied  your  benefactress  ?  Can 
you  describe  her  to  me  ?, 

'  Oh !  I  saw  her  very  plainly,'  re- 
plied the  Countess,  '  she  is  tall  and 
handsome.  She  has  a  resolute  coun- 
tenance, a  beautiful  conplexion  and  her 
shape  is  fine  and  richly  developed.' 

'  And  did  not  the  other  lady  call  her 
by  her  name  ?' 

4  Oh  !  yes,  once,  but  it  was  only  by 
her  Christian  name.' 

'  And  her  Christian  name  was ?' 

'  Andree.' 

4  Andree  !'  exclaimed  the  Cardinal 
Btarting. 

This  emotion  did  not  escape  unno- 
ticed— like  all  the  others,  the  Countess 
de  La  Mothe  observed  it. 

The  Cardinal  now  knew  all  he  desired 
to  know  ;  the  name  of  Andree  at  once 
dispelled  all  his  doubts.  And  indeed  it 
was  known  that  the  queen  had  been  to 
Paris,  two  days  before*,  with  Mademoi- 
selle de  Taverney.  A  certain  story 
of  a  late  return,  closed  doors,  a  con- 
jugal quarrel  between  the  King  and 
Queen,  had  been  whispered  about  Ver- 
sailles. 

The  Cardinal  breathed  again. 

There  was  neither  snare  not'  plot  in 
the  rue  Saint  Claude.  Madame  de  La 
Mothe  appeared  as  beautiful  and  pure 
to  him,  as  the  angel  of  truth. 

And  yer  it  was  necessary  to  obtain 
one  last  proof.  The  Prince  was  a  di- 
plomatist. 

4  Countess,'  said  he,  '  I  must  acknowl- 
edge that  there  is  one  thing,  above  all, 
which  astonishes  me.' 

4  And  whnt  is  that,   Monseigneur  ?' 

•  1 1  is  that  with  your  name,  and  your 


rights,  you  ,  have  never  applied  director 
to  the  king.' 

4  To  the  king  ? 

4  Yes.' 

'  Why,  Monseigneur,  I  have  sent 
twenty  petitions,  twenty  memorials  to 
thte  king.' 

•  And  without  effect?' 
4  Without  effect.' 

'  But,  failing  with  the  king,  any  0f 
the  princes  of  the  royal  family  would 
have  furthered  your  claims.  Th* 
duke  of  Orleans  for  instance,  is  ehari 
table,  and  besides,  he  often  likes  to  do 
that  which  the  king  refuses.' 

4 1  have  solicited  his  higiiness  the 
duke  of  Orleans,  Monseigneur,  hut  ucu» 
lessly.' 

4  Uselessly  !     That  surprises  me.' 

4  How  can  it  be  otherwise  ;  when  -a 
person  is  not  rich  and  has  no  powerful 
recommendation,  every  petition  gets  no 
farther  than  the  ante-chamber  of  a 
prince.' 

4  Then  there  is  the  Count  d'Artcas. 
Men  who  are  fond,  of  dissipation  are 
sometimes  capable  of  greater  actions 
than  even  charitable  persons.' 

4  It  was  the  same  with  the  Count 
d'Artois,  as  with  his  Majesty  the  King 
of  France.' 

4  But  besides  all  these,  there  a** 
Mesdames,  the  king's  aunts.  Oh ! 
Countess,  I  am  much  mistaken  or  they 
must  have  given  you  a  favorable  repjy.' 

4  No,  Monseigneur.' 

4  Oh,  I  1  cannot  believe  that  Madame 
Elizabeth,  the  king's  sister,  can  have 
been  insensible  to  your  misfortunes.' 

44  That  is  true,  Monseigneur ;  her 
royal  highness,  on  my  solicitation, 
promised  to  receive  me  :  but  I  know 
not  how  it  happened  that  after  receiv- 
ing my  husband,  she  changed  her  mind, 
and  notwithstanding  the-  numerous  en- 
treaties I  addressed  to  her,  she  did  not 
deign  to  reply  to  me.' 

4  That  is  indeed  strange,'  said  th« 
Cardinal. 

Then  suddenly  and  as  if  the  idea  had 
only  at  that  moment  presented  itself  to 
his  mind. 

•  But  good  Heaven  !'  exclaimed  he, 
4  we  are  altogether  forgetting.' 

'  What  ?' 

•  Why  the  person  to  whom  above  all 
others,  you  ought  to  have  first  applied.' 

4  And  to  whom  else  ought  I  to  hawe 
apptied  ?' 

4  To  the  disposer  of  favors,  to  her  who 
has  never  refused  assistance  when  it 
was  deserved,  to  the  queen.' 

•To  the  queen  ?' 


MYSTERIES  OF  .THE  COURT  OF  LOUIS  XVI. 


•  Yes,  to  the  queea ;  hajre  you  seen 
her?' 

*  Never,'  replied  Jeanne,  with  perfect 
simplicity. 

1  How  !  you  have  never  presented  a 
petition  to  the  queen?' 

4  Never.' 

1  You  have  not  endeavored  to  obtain 
un  audience  of  her  majesty  ?' 

'  I  have  endeavored  but  did  uot  suc- 
ceed.' 

4  At  least  you  must  have  attempted  to 
place  yourself  in  her  way;  that  she 
might  remark  you  and  aend  for  you  to 
court.  That  would  have  been  a  means.' 

'I  have  not  employed  it.' 

4  Indeed,  madam,  you  tell  me  things 
that  are  almost  incredible.' 

4  No  ;  for  in  truth  I  have  been  but 
twice  to  Versailles,  and  then  I  saw  but 
two  persons,  Doctor  Louis,  the  physi- 
cian who  attended  my  unfortunate 
father  at  the  Hotel  Dieu  and  the  Baron 
de  Taverney,  to  whom  I  was  recom- 
mended.' 

4  And  what  did  Monsieur  de  Taverney 
•ay  to  you  ?  He  could  with  great  fa- 
cility have  put  you  in  a  way  to  see  the 
queen.' 

4  He  told  'me  that  I  had  managed 
matters  very  unskilfully.' 

•And  how  so?' 

4  To  urge  as  a  title  to  the  benevolence 
of  the  king,  a  relationship  which  could 
not  but  be  annoying  to  his  majesty,  for 
poor  relations  were  never  known  to 
please.' 

4  That  is  completely  the  brutal  and 
egotistical  baron.' 

Then  reflecting  on  the  visit  which 
Andree  had  paid  to  the  countess. 

4  A  strange  contradiction,'  thought  he, 
*  the  father  dismisses  the  petitioner  and 
the  queen  brings  the  daughter  to  the 
house — something  must  surely  arise 
from  such  an  anomaly.' 

4  By  the  honor  of  a  gentleman,'  he 
rejoined,  4  it  much  amazes  me  to  hear 
a  petitioner,  a  woman  of  the  highest 
nobility,  say  that  she  has  never  seen 
either  the  king  or  the  queen.' 

4  Excepting  in  a  painting,'  said  Jeanne, 
smiling. 

4  Well,'  said  the  Cardinal,  now  fully 
convinced  of  the  ignorance  of  the  coun- 
tess, 4 1  will,  myself  take  you  to  Ver- 
auilles,  should  it  be  necessary,  and  I 
will  engage  that  the  doors  shall  be  open- 
ed to  you.' 

'  Oh  !  monseignevu:,  what  unexpected 
kindness  ."  exclaimed  the  Couutese, 
transported  with  joy. 

The  Cardinal  drew  nearer  to  her. 


4  It  is  impossible,'  said  he,  4  but  that 
in  a  very  short  time  everybody  will  feel 
interested  for  you.' 

'Alas!  monseigneur,'  said  Jeanne, 
with  a  languishing  sigh,  4  do  you  believe 
that  sincerely  ?' 

4  Oh  !  I  am  positive  it  will  be  so.' 

•  I  believe  you   flatter   me,  monseig- 
neur.'    And  she  fixed   her  eyes  sted- 
fastjy  upon  him. 

Indeed,  this  sudden  change  was  well 
calculated  to  surprise  the  countess  ;  she 
who,  but  ten  minutes  previously,  he 
had  treated  with  princely  levity. 

Jeanne's  look,  darted  with  the  rapid- 
ity of  an  arrow  from  the  archer's  bow, 
struck  the  Cardinal  to  the  heart,  or  ex- 
cited his  sensuality.  M.  de  Rohan, 
who  was  a  connoisseur  in  women,  must 
have  acknowledged  to  himself  that  he 
had  seen  few  so  seducing. 

4  Ah !  by  my  faith,'  said  *he  to  him- 
self, with  that  eternal  reservation  com- 
mon to  all  courtiers  and  men  educated 
for  diplomacy.  4  Ah !  by  my  faith,  it 
would  be  too  extraordinary  or  too  for- 
tunate, that  I  should  meet  in  the  same 
person,  a  virtuous  woman  wno  had  all 
the  appearance  of  an  intrigante,  and  in 
abject  misery  an  all-powerful  protec- 
tress.' 

4  Monseigneur,'  suddenly  said  the 
syren,  4  you  every  now  and  then  remain 
silent,  and  in  a  manner  which  makes 
me  feel  quite  anxious.  I  trust  you  will 
pardon  me  for  saying  so.' 

•  And   how   so,  Countess  ?'  inquired 
the  Cardinal. 

4  In  this,  Monseigneur  :  a  man  like 
you  is  never  wanting  in  politeness,  ex- 
cepting to  two  classes  of  women.' 

4  Oh !  good  heavefl,  what  are  you 
about  to  say,  Countess.  Upon  my  word, 
you  quite  alarm  me.' 

And  he  took  her  hand. 

4  Yee,'  said  the  Countess,  •  with  two 
classes  of  women  ;  I  have  said  it,  and  I 
repeat  it.' 

•  And  what  are  they  ?     Come,  now, 
let  un  hear.' 

4  Women  that  are  too  much  beloved( 
or  women  that  are  not  sufficiently  es- 
teemed.' 

4  Countess  !  Countess  !  you  make  me 
blush.  Can  I  have  been  wanting  in  po- 
liteness towards  you?' 

'Why ' 

4  Do  not  say  that ;  it  would  be  horrible.1 

4  It  would,  indeed,  Monseigneur,  for 
you  cannot  love  me  too  much  ;  and  I 
have  not,  at  all  events,  up  to  the  present 
moment,  given  you  any  reason  not  to 
esteem  ra/e.' 


90 


THE  QUEEN'S  NECKLACE;  OR,  THE 


The  Cardinal  again  took  her  hand. 
'Ah!  Countess,  really,  you  speak  to 
me  as  if  you  were  angry  with  me 


'  Ah  !  this  seems  like  confidence,'  ex- 
claimed he,  still  drawing  nearer  to 
Jeanne.  '  Ah  !  so  much  the  better !  BO 


'  No,  Monseignem%  for  you  have  not  j  much  the  better.' 
as  yet  deserved  my  anger.'  '  I  feel  confidence :  yes,  Monseigneurf 

*  And  I  never  will  deserve  it,  madam, 
from  this  duy,  on  which  I  have  first  had 
the  pleasure  of  seeing  and  of  knowing 
you.' 

Oh  !  my  looking-glass  !  my  looking- 


glass !'  thought  Jeanne,  '  you  spoke 
truly.' 

'  And,  from  this  day,  my  care  shall 
always  be  devoted  to  you.' 

4  Oh  !  pray  no  more,'  said  the  Count- 
ess, who  had  not  withdrawn  her  hand, 
'  that  is  quite  enough.' 

'  What  can  you  mean  ?' 

4  Speak  not  to  me  of  your  protection.' 

4  Heaven  forbid  that  I  should  pro- 
nounce that  word  protection.  Ah»! 
madam,  it  is  not  you  that  it  would  hu- 
miiliate,  but  myself.' 

4  Then,  Cardinal,  let  us  admit  one 
thing,  and  which  will  flatter  me  ex- 
ceedingly.' 

4  If  that  be  the  case,  madam,  we  will 
at  once  admit  it.' 

4  Let  us  admit,  Monseigneur,  that 
you  have  paid  a  visit  to  Madame  de 
La  Mothe  Valois,  and  nothing  more.' 

4  But  nothing  less,  at  all  events,'  re- 
plied the  gallant  Cardinal. 

And,  raising  Jeanne's  hand  to  his 
lips,  he  impressed  upon  it  a  long  and 
fervent  kiss. 

The  Countess  withdrew  her  hand. 

'  Oh  !  mere  politeness,'  said  the  Car- 
nal with  infinite  gravity  and  grace. 

Jeanne  again  gave  her  hand  to  him, 
upon  which,  this  time,  the  prelate  ap- 
plied a  most  respectful  kiss. 

•  All !  that,  indeed,  is  as  it  should  be, 
Monseigneur.' 

The  Cardinal  bowed. 

•  To  know,'  continued  the  Countess, 
*  that  I  possess  a  place,  however  small 
it  may  be,  in  the  mind  of  a  man  so  oc- 
cupied and   so  eminent  as  yourself,  is 


because  I  feel  assured  that  y»ur  emin- 
ence'   

4  You  said  Cardinal,  just  now,  Count- 
ess.' 

4  You  must  forgive  me,  Monseigneur, 
I  know  not  the  usages  of  the  court.  I 
say  I  feel  confidence,  because  you  are 
capable  of  comprehending  a  mind  like 
mine,  adventurous,  courageous ;  and  a 
heart  altogether  pure,  despite  the  trials 
of  poverty, — despite  the  attacks  made 
upon  me  by  vile  enemies.  Your  emin- 
ence will  know  how  to  appreciate  in 
me,  that  is,  in  my  conversation,  that 
which  is  worthy  of  you  ;  your  emin- 
ence will  be  indulgent  with  regard  to 
whatever  is  deficient  in  me.' 

'  We  are  friends  forever,  then,  ma 
dam  ;  it  is  signed  and  sworn.' 

4 1  have  no  objection.' 

The  Cardinal  rose  and  advanced  to- 
wards Madame  de  La  Mothe,  but  as  he 
extended  his  arms  wider  than  was  ne- 
cessary, to  take  a  simple  oath,  the 
Countess,  light  and  agile,'  slipped  from 
within  their  circle. 

4  A  treaty  of  amity  between  three,' 
she  exclaimed,  with  an  inimitable  ac- 
cent of  raillery  and  innocence. 

'  What  can  you  mean  by  three  ?' 
asked  the  Cardinal. 

'  Undoubtedly  ;  is  there  not  wander 
ing  somewhere  in  this  world,  a  poor 

Ssndarme,  an   exile,  who  is  called  the 
ount  de  La  Mothe  ?* 
4  Oh !    Countess,    what   a  deplorable 
memory  you  possess.' 

4  Why,  in  good  truth,  I  must  speak 
to  you  of  him,  since  you  do  not  even 
mention  him.' 

'  Do  you  know,  Countess,  why  I  have 
not  spoken  of  him  ?' 
4  Well,  just  tell  me.' 
4  It  is  because  he  will  well  know  how  to 


enough  to  console  me  during  a  whole  j  speak  for  himself;  believe  me,  husbands 
year.  '  i  are  never  forgetful  of  themselves.' 


1 A  year ;  that  is  but  short  space  ;  let 
us  hope  more  than  that,  Countess.' 

1  Well,  Cardinal,  I  will  not  say  no,' 
replied  sin-  smiling, 

Cardinal,  without  any  addition   ~ 


Mothe    had   twice    been  guilty.      The 


'And  should  he  speak  of  himself?' 
'  Why,  then,  we  will  speak   of  you, 
and  then  people  will  speak  of  us.' 
'  And  how  so  ?' 
4  It  will  be  said,  for  instance,  that  M- 


a  familiarity  of  which  Madame  de  La    de  La  Mothe  was  pleased,  crthatM.  de 


La  Mothe  was  displeased,  because  the 


prelate,  who  was  irritable  in  his  pride,  I  Cardinal  de  Rohan  came  three,  four, 
might  have   been  astonished  at  it ;  but   or  five  times  a  week  to  visit  Madame  de 
things  had  arrived  ar  such  a  point,  that !  La  Mothe,  in  the  Rue  Saint  Claude.1 
be  was  not  only  not  surprised,  but,  on '      4  <^h  '  hn\v  vnn  mn  ««    fWHinoi — 
the  contrary   considered  it  as  a  favor. 


Oh !  how  you  run  on,   Cardinal- 
three,  four,  or  five  times  a-week  V 


MYSTERIES  OF  THE  COURT  OF  LOUIS  XVI. 


91 


4  Of  what  use  would  our  treaty  o: 
amity  be  otherwise,  Countess  ?  I  sale 
five  times,  but  made  a  great  mistake.  ] 
should  have  said,  six  or  seven  times.' 

Jeanne  laughed  very  heartily. 

The  Cardinal  remarked  that  for  the 
first  time,  she  had  paid  this  compliment 
to  his  jokes,  and  he  felt  flattered  by  it. 

4  Can  you  prevent  people  talking?' 
said  she.  •  You  well  know  that  is  im- 
possible.' 

'  I  can  effect  it,'  he  replied. 

'And  how ?' 

'  Oh  !  by  a  veiy  simple  method.  By 
some  means  or  other,  all  Paris  knows 
me.' 

4  Oh !  certes,  and  with  good  reason 
too,  Monseigneur.' 

'  But  you  ;  it  has  the  misfortune  ol 
not  knowing  you.' 

•  And  what,  then  ?' 

4  Let  us  reverse  the  matter.' 

'  Reverse  it — what  means  that  ?' 

4  It  shall  be  as  you  please — if,  for  in- 
stance'   

4  Go  on.' 

4  Were  you  to  go  out,  instead  oi 
making  me  come  out' 

'  That  I  should  go  to  your  hotel — I, 
Monseigneur  ?' 

4  You  would,  without  objection,  call 
on  a  minister.' 

4  A  minister  is  not  a  man,  Monseign- 
eur.' 

4  You  are  adorable.  Well,  then,  my 
hotel  is  altogether  out  of  the  question  ; 
I  have  a  house.' 

4  A  pleasure  house,  to  speak  plainly.' 

4  By  no  means,  a  house  that  is  your 
own.' 

4  Ah !'  cried  the  countess,  4  a  house 
of  mine  ?  and  where  is  it  situated  ?  I 
did  not  know  I  had  such  a  property.' 

The  Cardina.  who  had  again  sat  down, 
rose  from  his  chair. 

4  To-morrow  morning  at  ten  o'clock, 
I  will  send  you  the  address.' 

The  Countess  blushed,  the  Cardinal 
gallantly  took  her  hand. 

And  this  time  the  kiss  was  at  once 
respectful,  tender  and  bold. 

They  then  bowed  to  each  other  with 
that  residue  of  smiling  ceremony  which 
indicates  an  approaching  intimacy. 

4  Light  raonseigneur  to  the  door,'  cried 
the  countess. 

The  old  woman  appeared  with  a  wax 
light  in  her  hand. 

The  prelate  withdrew. 

4  Well,' thought  Jeanne,  4it  appears 
to  me  that  I  have  made  a  great  step  in 
the  world.' 

4  Well,  well,'  thought   the   Cardinal, 


as  he  threw  himself  upon  the  cushion* 
of  his  carriage,  '  I  have  succeeded 
doubly.  That  woman  has  too  much  wit 
not  to  entrap  the  queen  as  she  has  en- 
trapped  me.' 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

MESMER  AND  SAINT  MARTIN. 

There  was  a  time  when  Paris  free 
from  business,  Paris  full  of  leisure,  be- 
came altogether-impassioned  for  ques- 
tions which,  in  our  days,  are  the  mono- 
poly of  the  rich,  who  are  termed  the 
useless,  and  men  of  science,  who  are 
termed  the  idle. 

In  1784,  that  is  to  say,  the  period  at 
which  we  have  now  arrived,  the  fashion- 
able topic,  that  which  rose  above  all 
others — which  floated  in  the  air,  its 
course  being  arrested  by  heads  that 
towered  somewhat  above  the  common 
herd,  as  are  the  vapors  by  high  moun- 
tains, was  Mesmerism  ;  that  mysterious 
science  so  ill  defined  by  its  inven- 
tors, who,  not  feeling  the  necessity 
of  rendering  a  discovery  democratic 
from  its  very  birth,  had  allowed  it 
to  assume  the  name  of  a  man,  that 
is  to  say,  an  aristocratic  title,  in- 
stead of  one  of  those  scientific  names 
derived  from  the  Greek,  by  the  aid  of 
which  the  bashful  modesty  of  modern 
men  of  science,  in  these  days  popular- 
ize all  scientific  elements. 

And  indeed,  what  purpose  would  it 
have  answered  in  1784  to  have  vulgarised 
a  science  ?  The  people,  who  for  more 
than  a  century  and  a  half  ha.9  not  beon 
consulted  by  those  "trno  governed  them, 
did  they  count  for  any  thing  in  the 
State  ?  No,  the  people  were  the  fer- 
tile soil  which  produced  every  thing, 
they  were  the  rich  harvest  that  was 
mowed  down;  but  the  proprietor  of  the 
soil  was  tne  King  the  reapers  were  the 
nobility. 

In  our  days,  all  this  is  changed. — 
France  resembles  a  secular  sand-glass  ; 
during  nine  hundred  years  it  h.is  mark- 
ed the  hours  of  royalty ;  the  powerful 
band  of  the  Lord'  has  turned  it;  for 
ce'nturieft  it  will  mark  the  era  of  the 
people. 

In  1784  the  name  of  a  man  was  there- 
fore a  recommendation  ;  in  these  days, 
on  the  contrary,  success  depends  on  the 
name  of  a  thing. 

But  let  us  abandon  to-day  to  cast  back 
our  eyes  on  yesterday.  In  the  vast  ex- 


92 


THE  QUEEN'S  NECKLACE;    OR,  THE 


tent  of  eternity  what  is  the  lapse  of  only 
half  a  century?  Not  even  that  which 
to  our  limited  vision  exists  between  the 
day  and  the  morrow. 

Doctor  Mesmer  was  at  Paris,  as 
Marie  Antoinette  has,  herself,  informed 
us,  by  asking  the  king's  permission  to 
pay  him  a  visit.  Let  us  therefore  be 
permitted  to  say  a  few  wqrds  of  Doctor 
Mesmer,  whose  name  remembered  now 
by  only  a  few  adepts,  was  at  the  time 
we  are  attempting  to  describe,  in  every 
mouth. 

Doctor  Mesmer  had,  about  the  year 
1777,  brought  withiiim  from  Germany, 
that  land  of  misty  dreams,  a  science  all 
beswollen  with  clouds  and  lightnings. 
By  the  flashings  of  this  lightning,  the 
scientific  man  saw  but  the  clouds  ranged 
in  dark  canopy  above  his  head  ;  the  vul- 
gar saw  the  lightning  only. 

Mesmer  had  commenced  in  Germany 
by  a  thesis  on  the  planets.  He  had  en- 
deavored to  prove  that  the  celestial 
bodies,  by  virtue  of  that  power  which 
produces  their  mutual  attraction,  exer- 
cise an  influence  over  animated  bodies, 
and  particularly  on  the  nervous  system, 
through  the  medium  of  a  subtle  fluid 
which  fills  the  universe.  But  this  first 
theory  was  extremely  abstruse.  It  was 
necessary,  in  order  to  comprehend  it, 
to  be  initiated  in  the  science  of  Galileo 
and  of  Newton.  It  was  a  mixture  of 
great  astronomical  truths,  with  as- 
trological reveries  which  could  not, 
we  will  not  say  be  popularized,  but 
aristocracized ;  for  to  effect  this  it 
would  have  been  necessary  tha,t  the 
whole  body  pf  the  nobility  should  have 
been  converted  into  n  scientific  society. 
Mesmejj  there  fore  abandoned  this  first 
system  to  throw  himself  into  that  of 
magnetic  influei. 

Magnets,  at  that  time,  were  much 
studied,  their  sympathetic  or  anti-pa- 
thetic faculties  gave  to  minerals  a  life 
somewhat  similar  to  human  life,  by  ac- 
cording to  them  the  two  great  passions 
of  human  life,  love  and  hatred.  To 
magnets  were  consequently  attributed 
surprising  qualities  for  the  cure  of  ma- 
ladies. Mesmer  therefore  added  the 
action  of  the  magnet  to  his  first  system, 
and  tried  to  discover  what  he  could 
gain  by  this  adjunction.  • 

Unfortunately  for  Mesmer,  on  arriv- 
ing at  Vienna  he  found  a  rival  already 
established  there.  This  rival,  whose  name 
was  Hall,  pretended  that  Mesmer  had 
robbed  him  of  his  discoveries  ;  upon  this 
Mesmer,  being  a  man  of  great  imagina- 1 
tion,  and  that  he  was  undoubtedly,  de- 


clared at  once,  that  he  had  abandoned 
magnets  as  altogether  useless,  and  that 
he  qo  longer  effected  cures  by  mineral, 
but  by  animal  magnetism. 

This  word,  pronounced  as  a  new 
word,  did  not,  however,  designate  a 
new  discovery ;  magnetism,  known  to 
the  ancients,  employed  in  the  Egyptian 
initiations  and  in  Grecian  pythism,  had 
been  preserved  through  the^  middle 
ages  as  a  tradition ;  some  remnants 
gathered  from  this  science,  had  created 
the  sorcerers  of  the  thirteenth,  four- 
teenth, and  fifteenth  centuries ;  many  of 
whom  were  burnt  at  the  stake,  who 
avowed  amid  the  flames,  the  strange 
religion  of  which  they  were  the  mar- 
tyrs. 

Urbain  Grandier  was  nothing  more 
than  a  magnetizer. 

Mesmer  had  heard  of  the  miracles  of 
this  science. 

Joseph  Balsamo,  the  hero  of  one  of 
our  works,  has  left  some  traces  of  his 
passage  in  Germany,  and  more  parti-, 
cularly  at  Strasbourg.  Mesmer  set 
out  in  search  of  this  science,  scattered 
and  flitting  as  those  will-o'-the-wisps 
which  are  seen  at  night  hpvering  over 
bogs  and  marshes,  and  upon  it  he  fqjm- 
ed  a  complete  theory,  an  uniform  sys- 
tem, to  which  he  gave  the  name  of 
Mesmerism. 

Mesmer,  when  he  had  attained  this 
point,  communicated  his  system  to  the 
Academy  of  Sciences  at  Paris,  to  the 
Royal  Society  of  London,  and  to  the 
Academy  of  Berlin.  The  two  first  did 
not  even  deign  to  reply  to  him  :  the 
third  told  him  that  he  was  a  madman. 

Mesmer  remembered  the  Grecian 
philosopher  who  denied  there  was  mo- 
tion, and  whom  his  antagonist  at  once 
confounded  by  walking  away  from  him. 
He  came  to  France,  took  out  of  the 
hands  of  Dr.  Storck,  and  Wenzel  the 
occulist,  a  young  girl,  seventeen  years 
of  age,  afflicted  with  a  disease  in  the 
liver,  and  gutta  serena,  and  after  at- 
tending her  three  months,  the  invalid 
was  cured,  the  blind  saw  plainly. 

This  cure  had  convinced  numbers  of 
persons,  and  among  others,  a  physiq\an 
named  Deslon,  who,  from  being  an  an- 
tagonist, became  an  apostle. 

From  that  moment  the  reputation  of 
Mesmer  rapidly  increased.  The  Aca- 
demy had  declared  itself  against  the  .in- 
novator ;  the  court  declared  itself  in  his 
favor.  Negociatiuns  were  opened  by 
the  ministry  to  induce  Mesmer  to  en- 
rich humanity  by  the  publication  of  hi* 
doctrine. 


MYSTERIES  OF  THE  COURT  OF  LOUIS  XVI. 


93 


The  doctor  fixed  his  price.  There 
was  some  haggling.  M.  de  Breteuil  of- 
fered him,  in  the  name  of  the  king,  an 
annuity  of  twenty  thousand  lirres,  and 
ten  thousand  livres  in  addition,  for  the 
instruction  of  three  persons,  to  be  nam- 
ed by  the  government,  in  the  practice 
of  hia  system.  But  Mesmer,  indignant 
at  this  roy.;.I  parsimony,  refused,  and 
set  out  for  the  Baths  at  Spa,  with  sev- 
eral of  his  patients. 

An  unexpected  catastrophe  threaten- 
ed Mesmer.  Deslon,  his  pupil ;  Des- 
lon,  possessor  of  the  famous  secret, 
which  Mesmer  had  refused  to  sell  for 
thirty  thousand  livres  a  year :  Deslon 
opened  an  establishment  for  public 
treatment,  by  the  Mesmerian  method. 

Mesmer  was  soon  apprised  of  this 
painful  news  ;  he  called  it  robbery, 
treason,  fraud — it  almost  drove  htm 
mad.  Then  one  of  his  patients,  M.  de 
Bergasse,  had  the  fortunate  idou  of 
forming  a  company  upon  the  science  of 
the  illustrious  professor.  A  hundred 
persons  united  in  the  scheme,  the  ca- 
pital for  which  was  three  hundred  nnd 
forty  thousand  livres,  the  condition  be- 
ing that  he  should  reveal  his  system  to 
the  shareholders.  Mesmer  engaged  to 
do  this,  received  the  amount,  and  re- 
turned to  Paris. 

The  hour  was  propitious  ;  there  are 
instants  in  the  existence  of  a  people, 
when  near  a  period  of  transition,  and 
on  the  approach  of  which  the  whole, 
nation  pauses  as  before  some  unknown 
obstacle — hesitates,  and  appears  to  have 
a  presentiment  of  the  abyss,  on  the 
brink  of  which  it  has  arrived,  and  which 
it  divines  although  it  sees  it  not. 

France  was  in  one  of  those  moments 
— she  presented  the  aspect  of  a  com- 
munity, calm  to  all  appearance,  but  the 
mind  of  which  was  agitated  ;  it  was,  in 
a  measure,  slumbering  in  factitious  hap- 
piness, the  termination  of  which  wns 
dimly  seen,  as  when  about  to  issue  from 
some  extensive  forest,  we  guess  there 
is  a  plain  before  us,  from  the  light  break- 
ing at  a  distance  through  the  interstices 
of  the  trees.  That  culm  which  had  no- 
thing stable  in  it,  nothing  real,  was  fa- 
tiguing;  all  sought  for  something  that 
would  create  excitement,  and  novelty, 
of  whatsoever  description,  was  eagerly 
welcomed.  The  upper  classes  had  be- 
come too  frivolous  to  occupy  themselves 
as  in  former  times,  with  serious  ques- 
tions as  to  government  or  Moliiiis'r.. 
But  they  contended  furiously  with  re- 
gard to  music  ;  parties  were  formed, 
bearing  the  standard  of  Gluck  or  of  Pic- 


cini — they  became  impassioned  for  the 
Encyclopedia,  or  inflamed  for  the  me- 
moirs of  Beaumarchais. 

The  appearance  of  a  new  opera  oc- 
cupied men's  minds  more  than  a  treaty 
of  peace  with  England,  or  the  recogni- 
tion of  the  Republic  of  the  United 
States.  It  was,  in  short,  a  period  in 
which  men's  minds,  led  by  philosophers 
towards  the  truth,  that  is  to  say,  to- 
wards the  destruction  of  illusions,  be- 
come fatigued  with  the  limpidness  of 
the  possible,  which  allows  the  depth 
of  everything  to  be  clearly  seen,  and  by 
a  sudden  bound  endeavor  to  spring  be- 
yond the  limits  of  the  real  world,  to 
enter  into  one  of  dreams  and  fiction. 

In  fact,  if  it  has  been  proved  that 
clear,  lucid  truths,  are  the  only  ones 
which  can  become  promptly  popular,  it 
has  not  the  less  been  proved  that  mys- 
teries have  a  most  powerful  attraction 
for  every  people. 

The  people  of  France  were,  there- 
fore, carried  away,  attracted,  in  an  irre- 
sistible manner,  by  the  strange  mystery 
of  the  Mesmerinn  fluid,  which,  accord- 
ing to  the  assertions  of  the  adepts,  re- 
stored health  to  the  sick,  gave  mind  to 
the  madman,  and  folly  to  the  wise. 

Ip  every  quarter  Mesmer  wns  the 
man  who  most  attracted  attention. — 
'What  has  he  done  ?  On  whom  has  he 
performed  his  divine  miracles  ?  To 
what  great  lord  has  lie  restored  sight 
and  health  ?  What  lady's  nerves,  fa- 
tigued with  late  hours  and  gambling, 
has  he  soothed  and  quieted  ?  What 
young  girl  has  he  compelled  to  predict 
the  future  during  a  magnetic  crisis?' 

The  future  !  the  great  word  of  all 
nges  ;  the  great  interest  to  all  minds; 
the  solution  of  all  problems.  *nd  ia 
fact,  what  was  then  the  present  ? 

A  royalty  without  refulgence,  a  nobil- 
ity without  authority,  a  country  with- 
out commerce,  a  people  without  rights, 
society  without  confidence. 

From  the  royal  family,  uneasy  and 
isolated  upon  its  throne,  down  to  the 
i  plebeian  family  starving  in  its  wretched 
'  liovel — misery,  shame  and  fear,  per- 
vaded every  class. 

To  forget  others  and  to  think  of  self 
alone  ;  to  dive  into  strange,  new  and 
mysterious  sources,  to  attain  the  as- 
surance of  pjjbUmged  life  and  of  inalter- 
1  able  health  during  this  prolongation  of 
existence  ;  to  'snatch  something  from 
avaricious  fate,  WHS  not  that  the  object 
'of an  aspiration  easily  comprehended, 
:  which  impelled  nil  towards  that  unknown 
'  good  which  Mesmor  promised  ? 


94 


THE  QUEEN'S  NECKLACE;  OR,  THE 


Voltaire  was  dead  and  there  was  not 
in  France  a  single  burst  of  laughter,  ex- 
cepting the  laugh  of  Beaumiirchais  more 
bitter  than  that  of  the  master.  Rous- 
seau was  dead ;  there  was  no  longer 
any  religious  philosophy  in  France. — 
Rousseau  had  wished  to  sustain  God  ; 
but  since  Rousseau  had  censsd  to  exist, 
no  one  dared  to  venture  on  it,  fearing 
to  be  crushed  beneath  the  weight. 

In  former  times  war  had  been  a 
serious  occupation  to  the  French. — 
Kings  had  for  their  own  interests,  ex- 
cited national  heroism ;  but  now  the 
only  war  in  which  France  was  engaged, 
was  an  American  war,  and  in  this  the 
king  had  personally  no  interest.  In 
short  were  not  people  fighting  for  that 
unknown  thing  which  the  Americans 
call  independence,  a  word  which  the 
French  translate  by  an  abstract  term, 
Liberty  ? 

And  even  this  distant  war,  which  was 
one  not  only  of  another  people  but  of 
another  world,  had  just  terminated. 

Considering  all  things  duly,  was  it 
not  much  better  that  people  should  oc- 
cupy their  minds  with  Mesmer,  the 
German  doctor,  who  for  the  second  time 
in  six  years  had  enraptured  the  whole 
of  France,  than  with  Lord  Cornwallis 
or  General  Washington,  who  were  at 
such  a  distance  that  it  was  probable  that 
neither  the  one  nor  the  other  would 
-ever  be  seen  by  the  people  of  Paris  ? — 
Whereas  Mesmer  was  there;  he  could 
be  seen,  be  touched,  and  what  was  the 
supreme  ambition  of  three-fourths  of 
the  inhabitants  o  Paris,  they  rould  be 
touched  by  him. 

Thus  this  man,  who,  on  his  arrival  in 
Paris  had  not  been  countenanced  by 
any  oneftnot  even  by  the  queen  his 
countrywoman,  ><Pho  nevertheless  af- 
forded great  assistance  to  people  from 
her  country  ;  this  man  who  but  for  Dr. 
Deslon,  who  afterwards  deceived  him, 
would  have  remained  in  obscurity  ;  this 
man  reigned  supremely  over  public 
opinion,  leaving  far  behind  the  king,  of 
whom  no  one  had  ever  spoken,  M.  de 
Layfayette  of  whom  nothing  was  yet 
spoken,  and  M.  de  Necker,  of  whom 
people  no  longer  spoke. 

And  as  if  that  age  was  bent  upon  award- 
ing food  to  every  mind  according  to  its 
aptitude,  to  every  heart  according  to  its 
sympathies,  to  every  soul  according  to 
its  necessities,  there  iinisc«ii  opposition 
to  Mesmer,  the  advocate  of  materialism, 
Saint  Martin,  the  apostle  of  spiritu- 
alism, wliose  doctrines  comforted  and 
•  healed  all  those  souls  which  were 


wounded  by  the  positivism  of  the  Ger 
man  doctor. 

Let  any  one  imagine  an  atheist  with 
a  religion  more  gentle  than  religion  it- 
self; a  republican  replete  with  polite- 
ness and  attention  towards  kings;  a 
gentleman  belonging  to  the  privileged 
classes,  affectionate,  tender  and  loving 
towards  the  people  ;  imagine  only  the 
triple  attack  of  this  man,  endowed  with 
the  most  logical  the  most  seductive  elo- 
quence, preaching  against  the  worship 
of  all  the  religions  of  the  earth,  which 
le  terms  senseless,  merely  because  they 
are  divine. 

Let  any  one  imagine,  in  short,  Epi- 
curus wearing  hair  powder,  in  an  era- 
jroidered  coat,  a  spangled  waistcoat, 
satin  small-clothes,  silk  stockings  and 
shoes  with  red  heels.  Epicurus  not 
satisfying  himself  with  overturning  the 
ods  in  whom  he  does  not  believe,  but 
shaking  governments  to  their  founda- 
tions,treating  them  as  he  does  the  various 
eligions,  because  they  never  can  agree 
among  themselves,  and  almost  always 
end  in  causing  theunhappiness  of  man- 
kind. 

Acting  against  social  law,  which  he 
invalidates  with  this  sole  saying  :  '  that 
it  awards  similar  punishments  to  faults 
that  are  altogether  dissimilar:  it  pun- 
ishes the  effect  without  appreciating  the 
cause.' 

Let  us  now  suppose  that  this  tempter 
who  assumes  the  title  of  the  unknown 
philosopher,  combines,  to  draw  men  into 
!i  circle  of  new  opinions,  all  that  imagi- 
nation can  devise  that  is  delightful  in 
addition  to  the  promises  of  a  moml  pa- 
radise, and  instead  of  saying  that  all 
men  are  equal,  which  is  an  absurdity, 
he  invents  the  following  formula,  which 
appears  to  have  escaped  the  lips  even  of 
the  person  who  denies  it : 

INTKLLIUKNT  BKKNGS    ARK  ALL  KINGS.' 

And  then  conceive  the  effect  of  such 
a  moral  sentiment  falling  suddenly  in 
the  midst  of  a  society  without  hope, 
without  a  director;  of  a  society — an 
archipelago  strewn  with  ideas,  that,  is 
to  say  witli  rocks.  Remember  that  at 
the  time  we  are  speaking  of  women 
were  tender  and  extravagant,  the  men 
eager  after  power,  honors  and  pleasure  ; 
in  short,  a  time  when  kings  allowed 
their  crowns  to  sit  loosely  on  their 
hends,  upon  which  people  standing  in 
obscurity,  for  the  first  time  cast  a  look 
at  once  inquisitive  and  threatening. — 
Will  it  be  thought  strange  that  such  a 
doctrine  should  find  proselytes,  when  it 
said  to  men  : 


MYSTERIES  OF  THE  COURT  OF  LOUIS  XVI. 


95 


•  Choose   from   among   yourselves   a 
tool  of  superior  stamp,  but  one  superioi 
in  love  and  charity,  by  its  powerful  will 
of  loving  well  and  of  rendering  others 
happy  ;    then  when   this  soul  shall  be 
clearly  revenled  to  you,  bend  down  the 
knee,    humble   yourselves,     annihilate 
yourselves  all  ye  inferior  souls,  in  order 
to  leave  space  enough  for  the   dictator- 
ship of  that  soul,  whose  mission  it  is  to 
restore  you  to  your  essential  principle, 
that  is  to  say,  to  the  equality  of  suffer- 
ing in  the  midst  of  the  forced  inequality 
of  aptitudes  and  occupations. 

Add  to  this  also  that  this  unknown  phi- 
losopher surrounded  himself  with  mys- 
teries ;  that  he  preferred  the  deepest 
obscurity  in  order  that  he  might  peace- 
ably discuss,  aloof  from  spies  and  para- 
sites, that  great  social  theory  which 
might  become  the  policy  of  the  whole 
world. 

*  Listen   to   me,'    said   he,    '  faithful 
souls,  believing  hearts,  listen  to  me  and 
endeavor  to  understand  me  ;   or  rather 
listen  not  to  me  if  you  feel  not  sufficient 
interest  and  curiosity  to  understand  me, 
for  you  will  find  it  difficult,   and   I   will 
not  impart  my  secrets  to   whomsoever 
is  not  capable  of  tearing  the  veil  from 
them. 

'  I  say  things  that  I  do  not  wish  to 
appear  to  say,  and  therefore  it  will  often 
appear  that  I  say  other  things  than  those 
I  really  say.' 

And  Saint  Martin  was  right,  and  he 
was  really  surrounded  by  silent,  gloomy 
and  jealous  defenders  of  his  ideas  ;  a 
mysterious  tabernacle  of  which  no  one 
could  penetrate  the  dark  and  religious 
mysticity. 

Thus  worked  for  the  glorification  of  the 
soul  and  of  matter,  while  dreaming  of 
the  annihilation  of  God  and  the  annihi- 
lation of  the  religion  of  Christ,  these 
two  men,  who  had  divided  into  two  se- 
parate camps  all  the  intelligent  minds, 
all  the  chosen  natures  of  France. 

And  these  were  grouped  around  the 
vat  of  Mesmer,  from  which  gushed  forth 
health  and  comfort,  all  that  was  sensual, 
all  the  elegant  materialism  of  that  de- 
generated nation.  Whilst  around  the 
book  of  errors,  were  united  the  pious, 
charitable  loving  souls,  who  thirsted  for 
the  realization  of  their  hopes  after  hav- 
ing so  long  tasted  only  of  chimeras. 

If  beneath  these  privileged  spheres, 
ideas  either  diverged  or  became  con- 
fused ;  if  these  rumblings  when  escap- 
ing were  transformed  into  loud  thunder, 
aa  the  first  rays  they  emitted  had  be- 
come lightnings,  it  will  be  naturally  at- 


tributed to  the  state  of  roughness  or 
rather  want  of  finish  in  which  the  in- 
ferior grades  of  society  remained,  that 
is  to  say  the  citizens  and  the  people, 
since  called  the  third  estate  ;  who  only 
guessed  that  something  was  being  done 
in  which  they  were  concerned,  and  who 
in  their  impatience  and  resignation 
burned  with  a  desire  to  steal  the  sacred 
fire,  and  with  it  like  Prometheus,  ani- 
mate a  world  which  should  be  all  their 
own,  and  in  which  they  would  have  the 
management  of  their  own  affairs. 

Alas  !  now  that  the  veils  have  been 
torn  assunder,  now  that  the  people  have 
been  ten  times  dashed  to  the  earth  by 
the  Promethean  fire  they  had  them- 
selves purloined,  tell  us  what  the  think- 
ing man  could  have  seen  at  the  conclu- 
sion of  thjs  extraordinary  eighteenth 
century,  if  it  was  not  the  decomposition 
of  a  world,  if  it  was  not  something  simi- 
lar to  that  which  happened  after  the 
death  of  Caesar  and  before  the  advent  of 
Augustus  to  power. 

Augustus  was  the  man  who  separated 
the  pagan  from  the  Christian  world,  as 
Napoleon  was  the  man  who  separated 
the  feudal  from  the  democratic  world. 

Perhaps  we  have  thrown  ourselves, 
and  led  our  readers  after  us,  into  a  di- 
gression which  has  appeared  to  them 
rather  of  the  longest,  but,  in  truth,  it 
would  have  been  difficult  to  touch  upon 
the  events  of  this  period  without  giving 
a  slight  sketch  of  these  grave  questions 
which  form  the  life  and  marrow  of  the 
time. 

And  now  the  effort  has  been  made ; 
an  effort  similar  to  that  of  a  child,  who 
scratches  off  with  his  feeble  nails  the 
rust  which  has  gathered  upon  an  antique 
statue,  in  order  to  read  beneath  the  rust, 
an  inscription  three  parts  of  which  are 
altogether  effaced. 

Let  us  therefore  return  to  our  story. 
For  if  we  continue  to  occupy  ourselves 
with  these  realities,  we  shall  say  too 
much  for  the  novelist,  too  little  for  the 
historian. 


CHAPTER  XVH. 


*     THE    VAT. 

THE  picture  we  have  attempted  to 
trace  in  the  preceding  chapter,  of  the 
then  existing  times  and  of  the  men  who 
most  occupied  the  public  mind  in  that 
moment,  may,  in  the  eyes  of  our  read- 
ers, warrant  the  inexpressible  eager- 


THE  QUEEN'S  NECKLACE;  OR,  THE 


ness  of  the  Parisians  to  witness  the 
cures  publicly  performed  by  M.  Mes- 
mer. 

And  therefore  was  it,  that  King 
Louis  XVI,  who,  if  he  had  not  per- 
sonal curiosity,  at  all  events  duly  ap- 
preciated the  novelties  which  caused 
any  stir  in  his  good  city  of  Paris,  had 
given  permission  to  the  queen,  on  the 
condition,  it  will  be  remembered,  that 
the  august  visitor  should  be  accom- 
panied by  a  Princess,  the  king,  we  say, 
had  permitted  the  queen  to  go  once,  in 
her  turn  to  see  that  which  all  the  world 
had  already  seen. 

It  was  just  two  days  after  the  visit 
which  the  Cardinal  de  Rohan  had  paid 
to  Madame  de  La  Mothe. 

The  weather  had  become  milder ;  a 
general  thaw  hu'd  at  last  taken  place 
An  army  of  street  sweepers,  happy  and 
proud  to  give  a  last  blow  to  the  winter, 
their  most  cruel  enemy,  were  manfully 
shoving  towards  the  sewers,  and  with 
the  ardor  of  soldiers  when  opening  a 
trench,  the  last  snow  which  had  fallen, 
dark  as  mud  and  melting  into  thick 
blaek  streams. 

The  heavens,  blue  and  clear,  were 
just  lighting  up  their  first  stars,  when 
Madame  de  La  Mothe,  elegantly  and 
fashionably  attired,  offering  the  appear- 
ance of  a  wealthy  person,  arrived  in  a 
hackney-coach,  which  Dame  Clothilde 
had  taken  care  should  be  of  the  most 
modern  form,  in  the  Place  Vendome, 
and  stopped  before  a  house  of  magnifi- 
cent appearance,  its  high  windows, 
along  the  whole  front,  being  splendidly 
illuminated. 

This  house  was  the  one  occupied  by 
M.  Mesmer. 

Besides  Madame  de  La  Mothe's 
hackney-coach,  a  goodly  number  of 
equipages  and  sedan  chairs  were 
standing  in  array  before  the  house,  and 
ia  addition  to  these  equipages  and  se- 
dan chairs,  three  or  four  hundred  gaz- 
ers were  gathered  round  its  door, 
trampling  in  the  mud,  watching  the 
exit  of  patients  who  had  been  cured, 
or  the  entrance  of  others  on  their  way 
to  be  so. 

The  latter,  almost  all  rich  and  titled 
people,  arrived  in  their  carriages,  with 
armorial  bearings,  whom  tb*jr  lackies 
lifted  out  and- .curried  into  the  house  ; 
and  these  new  bales  of  goods,  wrapped 
up  in  fur  pellisses  or  in  well-wadded 
satin  cloaks,  did  not  convey  a  slender 
consolation  to  those  half-starved,  liulf- 
naked  wretches,  who  were  watching  ut 
the  door,  by  this  convincing  proof,  that 


God  made  men  healthy  or  unhealthy, 
without  consulting  their  genealogical 
tree. 

When  one  of  these  patients,  with 
pallid  features  and  emaciated  members, 
had  been  carried  through  the  principal 
gate,  a  murmur  was  heard  spreading 
throughout  the  crowd,  and  it  was  rare- 
ly that  this  crowd,  at  once  inquisitive 
and  intelligent,  (who  had  seen  pressing 
into  mansions  where  balls  were  given, 
and  under  the  porticos  of  theatres,  all 
this  aristocracy  so  eager  alter  pleasure 
of  every  description,)  did  not  recognize, 
as  the  case  might  be, — such  and  such  a 
duke  with  one  arm  or  a  leg  paralyzed, 
or  such  and  such  a  general,  whose  feet 
refused  to  bear  him  any  longer,  less  on 
account  of  the  fatigues  of  his  long 
marches  and  military  life,  than  from 
the  benumbing  effects  of  the  halts  he 
had  made  at  the  houses  of  theatrical 
ladies  or  those  of  the  Italian  opera. 

It  is  not  necessary  to  state  that  the 
investigations  of  the  crowd  were  not 
limited  to  the  male  sex. 

That  woman  also,  whom  they  had 
seen  carried  from  her  equipage  in  the 
arms  of  her  heyduques,  her  head  re- 
clining on  one  side,  with  lack  lustre 
eyes,  like  to  the  Roman  dames,  whom 
their  Thessalians  carried  off  after  the 
banquet ;  this  lady,  subject  to  nervous 
pain,  or  debilitated  by  her  excesses  and 
sleepless  nights,  and  who  had  not  been 
able  to  procure  relief  or  resuscitation 
from  the  fashionable  players  of  the  day, 
or  from  those  vigorous  angels  of  whom 
Madame  Dugazou  could  give  such  mar- 
vellous accounts,  came  to  Mesmer's  vat 
in  search  of  that  which  she  had  vainly 
sought  elsewhere. 

And  let  it  not  be  believed  that  we  at 
pleasure  exaggerate  this  degraded  state 
of  morals.  We  cannot  but  avow  that 
at  this  period  there  existed  a  sort  oi 
rivalry  between  the  ladies  of  the  court 
and  the  women  of  the  several  theatres. 
The  latter  took  the  lovers  and  the  hus- 
bands of  the  court  ladies  from  them, 
while  these  in  turn  robbed  the  theatre 
goddesses  of  their  fellow-actors  and 
Bretagne  cousins,  as  they  used  to  call 
them. 

Some  of  these  ladies  were  as  well 
known  as  the  men,  and  their  names 
circulated  among  the  crowd  in  quite  as 
noisy  a  manner ;  but  many  of  them, 
and  certainly  uot  those  whose  names 
would  have  given  rise  to  the  smallest 
amount  of  scandal — many  of  them,  we 
say,  on  that  evening,'  at  least  escaped 
noisy  scandal  of  the  mob  by  repair- 


MYSTERIES  OF  THE  COUKT  OF  LOUIS  XVI. 


•97 


ing  to  Mesmer's  house,  their  faces  cov- 
ered with  a  satin  mask. 

One  reason  for  this  was,  that  this 
particular  day  was  that  of  mid-Lent, 
and  there  being  a  masked  ball  at  the 
Opera,  these  ladies  had  calculated  on 
leaving  the  Place  Vendome  to  repair  at 
once  to  the  ball. 

It  was  through  the  centre  of  this 
crowd,  venting  their  complaints,  their 
irony,  their  admiration,  and,  above  all, 
their  murmurs,  that  the  Countess  de 
La  Mothe  walked  erect  and  firm,  a 
mask  upon  her  face,  and  leaving  no 
other  traces  of  her  passage  than  this 
phrase  frequently  repeated. 

•  Ah  !  that  one,  at  all  events,  cannot 
be  very  ill !' 

But  it  must  not  be  imagined  that  this 
phrase  implied  any  absence  of  the  usual 
comments. 

For  if  Madame  de  La  Mothe  were 
not  ill,  what  had  she  to  do  at  Mesmer's  ? 

If  the  crowd  had  been  apprised,  as 
we  have  been,  of  the  events  we  have 
before  related,  they  would  have  consi- 
dered that  nothing  could  be  more  natu- 
ral than  this  visit. 

In  fact,  Madame  de  La  Mothe  had 
reflected  deeply  on  her  conversation 
with  the  Cardinal  de  Rohan,  and  above 
ail  on  the  very  particular  attention  with 
which  the  Cardinal  had  honored  the 
box  with  the  miniature,  which  'had 
been  forgotten,  or  rather  lost,  in  her 
room. 

And,  as  in  the  name  of  the  proprietor 
of  this  box,  lay  the  whole  reason  for 
the  sudden  graciousness  of  the  Cardi- 
nal, Madame  de  La  Mothe  had  thought 
of  two  methods  by  which  she  might  en- 
deavor to  ascertain  it. 

She  had,  in  the  first  instance,  re- 
course to  the  more  simple  of  the  two. 

She  had  been  to  Versailles  to  inquire 
for  the  charitable  establishment  to 
which  the  two  German  ladies  belonged. 

There,  as  will  be  readily  conceived, 
•he  had  not  been  able  to  gain  any  infor- 
mation. 

There  were  a  great  number  of  Ger- 
man ladies  who  resided  at  Versailles, 
on  account  of  the  avowed  sympathy  of 
the  queen  for  her  own  country  women  ; 
they  were  calculated  at  between  a  hun- 
dred and  fifty  and  two  hundred. 

But  they  were  all  considered  very 
charitable,  and  yet  none  of  them  had 
entertained  the  idea  of  putting  a  sign 
over  their  doors  to  indicate  a  charitable 
establishment. 

Jeanne  had,  therefore,  vainly  at- 
tempted to  gain  any  clue  to  the  two 

13 


ladies  who  had  paid  her  a  visit ;  she 
had  vainly  stated  that  the  name  of  one 
of  them.,was  Andr6e.  No  one  knew 
any  German  lady  in  Versailles  who  bore 
that  name,  which,  moreover,  was  by 
no  means  German. 

Her  researches  in  that  quarter,  there- 
fore, had  been  altogether  fruitless. 

To  ask  M.  de  Rohan  himself  to  men- 
tion the  name  which  he  suspected,  was 
in  the  first  place,  to  allow  him  to  per- 
ceive that  she  had  views  upon  him,  and 
secondly,  would  detract  from  the  plea- 
sure and  the  merit  of  a  discovery  made 
in  despite j)f  the  whole  world  and  con- 
trary to  every  possibility. 

Therefore,  as  there  was  mystery  in 
the  conduct  of  those  ludies  when  ut  her 
house — mystery  in  the  astonishment 
and  reserve  of  M.  de  Rohan — it  was  by 
mystery  she  must  proceed  to  discover 
the  word  which  would  solve  all  these 
enigmas. 

There  was,  besides,  in  the  character 
of  Jeanne,  a  powerful  attraction  in  this 
species  of  struggle  with  the  unknown. 

She  had  heard  that  there  was  in  Pa- 
ris a  man  of  wondrous  learning,  a  work- 
er of  miracles,  who  had  discovered  the 
means  of  expelling  from  the  human 
body  all  maladies  and  pains,  as  Christ, 
in  former  days,  had  expelled  demons 
from  the  bodies  of  the  possessed. 

She  knew  that  this  man  cured  not 
only  physical  evils,  but  that  he  wormed' 
from  the  soul  the  painful  secret  which 
undermined  it.  Under  his  all-powerful 
conjuration,  the  most  tenacious  will 
had  been  seen  to  soften  and  become  do- 
cile as  a  slave. 

Thus,  in  the  sleep  which  succeeded 
the  pains — after  the  scientific  physi- 
cian had  calmed  the  most  irritable  or- 
ganization, by  plunging  it  into  complete 
forgetfulness — the  soul,  delighted  with 
the  repose  it  owed  to  the  enchanter, 
placed  itself  at  the  entire  disposal  of 
this  new  master.  From  that  moment, 
he  directed  all  its  operations  ;  from  that 
moment  it  was  altogether  subservient 
to  him,  and  every  thought  of  this  grate- 
ful soul  was  communicated  to  him  in  a 
language  which  had  this  advantage  over 
human  language,  or  disadvantage  it 
might  be  thought  by  politicians,  of 
never  uttering  a  lie. 

And,  mucn  more  than  all,  this  soul, 
issuing  from  the  body  which  enclosed 
it  as  a  prison,  would,  on  the  first  order 
of  him  who  momentarily  controlled  it, 
fly  around  the  world,  mingling  itselt 
with  other  souls, — sound  them  inces- 
santly, ferret  out  their  deepest  secrets, 


THE  QUEEN'S  NECKLACE;  OR,  THE 


and  then,  like  the  pointer  dog,  who  at 
a  signal  makes  the  game  break  cover 
from  the  bush  which  had  concealed  it, 
and  where  it  thought  itself  in  safety, — 
this  soul  succeeds  at  length  in  extract- 
ing the  secret  from  the  heart  in  which 
it  was  buried,  and  bringing  it  with  it, 
deposits  it  at  the  master's  feet.  A  tol- 
erably faithful  picture  of  the  well-train- 
ed fulcon  or  sparrow-hawk,  which  soars 
to  the  clouds  and,  for  the  benefit  of  the 
falconer  its  master,  pursues  the  heron, 
the  partridge,  or  the  lark,  destined  .to 
afford  a  proof  of  its  ferocious  servilit)'. 

And  hence  proceeded  the  revelation 
of  a  great  number  of  marvellous  se- 
crets. 

Madame  de  Duras  had  in  this  man- 
ner discovered  a  child  of  hers  which 
had  been  stolen  when  out  at  nurse  ; 
Madame  de  Chantone  a  little  English 
lap-dog,  not  bigger  than  her  hand,  and 
for  which  she  would  have  given  all  the 
children  upon  earth — and  Monsieur  de 
Vandreuil  a  lock  of  hair,  for  which  he 
would  have  given  half  his  fortune. 

These  secrets  had  been  discovered 
through  the  instrumentality  of  clair- 
voyants of  both  sexes,  after  having  been 
operated  upon  magnetically  by  Doctor 
Mesmer. 

And  thus  persons  could  proceed  to 
the  house  of  the  illustrious  Doctor,  and 
suggest  secrets  which  were  the  best 
calculated  to  test  this  faculty  of  super- 
natural divination  ;  and  Madame  de  La 
Mothe  conceived  that  by  attending  one 
of  his  scientific  meetings,  she  would 
have  an  opportunity  of  addressing  the 
phenix  of  these  singular  discoveries, 
and  by  his  means  ascertain  who  was  the 
real  owner  of  the  box  which  at  that  mo- 
ment was  the  object  of  her  most  anxious 
preoccupation. 

And  for  this  purpose  she  hastened 
into  the  saloon  where  the  invalids  were 
assembled. 

We  must  ask  pardon  of  our  readers, 
for  the  saloon  will  require  a  very  parti- 
cular description,  and  which  we  shall 
immediately  proceed  to  give. 

The  apartment  was  divided  into  two 
principal  saloons. 

After  having  crossed  the  ante-cham- 
bers and  exhibited  the  necessary  pass- 
port to  the  ushers  on  service,  the  visiter 
was  admitted  into  a  vast 'Saloon,  the 
windows  of  which  were  hermetically 
closed,  excluding  light  and  air  during 
the  day  time  find  nil  noise  and  air  dur- 
ing the  night. 

In  tin-  centre  of  the  saloon,  and  under 
a.chandrlW.  the  wax  tapers  of  which 


shed  but  a  feeble  and  almost  dying 
light,  could  be  observed  an  immense 
vat  or  tub  with  a  closed  lid. 

There  was  nothing  elegant  in  the 
form  of  this  vat.  It  was  not  ornament- 
ed— no  drapery  concealed  the  bareness 
of  its  metal  sides. 

It  was  this  vat  which  was  commonly 
known  by  the  name  of  Mesmer's  tub. 

And  what  virtue  did  this  vat  enclose  ? 
Nothing  can  be  more  simple  than  the 
explanation. 

It  was  almost  completely  filled  with 
water  charged  with  sulphurous  prin- 
ciples, which  water  concentrated  its 
miasma  under  the  lid,  in  order  to 
saturate  with  it  bottles  methodically 
arranged  at  the  bottom  of  the  vat,  in 
inverse  positions. 

There  was  thus  produced  a  crossing 
of  the  mysterious  currents,  to  the  in- 
fluence of  which  the  invalids  owed  their 
cure. 

To  the  lid  was  affixed  an  iron  ring, 
sustaining  a  long  rope,  of  which  we 
shall  perceive  the  application  by  casting 
a  glance  on  the  invalids. 

Those  whom  we  observed  just  now 
entering  the  hotel,  were  seated,  pale 
and  languishing,  in  arm-chairs  ranged 
around  the  vat. 

.Men  and  women  were  intermingled, 
some  seated  listlessly,  others  looking 
grave,  and  some  with  anxious  fea- 
tures :  they  awaited  the  result  of  the 
trial. 

A  servant,  taking  the  end  of  the  long 
rope  attached  to  the  lid  of  the  viit,  coil- 
ed it  around  the  diseased  limbs  of  the 
patients,  in  such  a  manner,  that  being 
bound  by  the  same  chain,  they  should 
all,  at  the  same  moment,  feel  the  effect 
of  the  electricity  contained  in  the  vat. 

Then,  in  order  that  the  action  of  the 
animal  fluids,  transmitted  and  modified 
according  to  each  nature,  should  not  in 
any  way  be  interrupted,  the  patients, 
under  the  instructions  of  the  doctor, 
managed  to  touch  each  other,  either  by 
the  elbow,  the  shoulder,  or  with  their 
feet,  in  such  a  way  that  the  health-be- 
stowing vat  emitted  simultanedusly  to 
all  their  bodies  its  heat  and  regenerat- 
ing influence. 

This  medical  ceremony  was  doubt- 
less a  very  singular  spectacle,  and  no 
one  can  be  astonished  at  its  having  ex- 
cited the  curiosity  of  the  Parisians  to  so 
intense  a  degree. 

Twenty  or  thirty  patients  ranged 
around  this  vat ;  a  valet,  as  mute  as  the 
spectators  themselves,  and  entwining 
around  them  a  rope,  like  Laocoon  ana 


MYSTERIES  OF  THE  COURT  OF  LOUIS  XVI. 


his  sons  in  the  folds  of  their  serpents ; 
and  then  this  man  retiring  with  a  noise- 
less step,  after  having  pointed  out  to 
the  invalids  some  iron  rods  which,  pass- 
ing through  holes  into  the  vat,  were  to 
serve  as  conductors  of  more  immediate 
local  action  to  the  salutary  Mesmerian 
fluid. 

And  in  the  first  place,  as  soon  as  the 
sitting  was  duly  commenced,  n  certain 
mild  and  penetrating  warmth  began  to 
pervade  the  room  ;  it  softened  the  ra- 
ther rigid  fibres  of  the  invalids  ;  by  de- 
grees it  ascended  to  the  ceiling,  and 
soon  became  charged  with  delicate  per- 
fumes, under  the  influence  of  which 
the  most  rebellious  brain  was  soon  coni- 


cal drowsiness  of  a  satisfaction  which 
absorbs  ;  the  silence,  interrupted  only 
by  rapturous  sighs,  which  weighs  up- 
on this  whole  assemblage,  and  the  most 
exact  idea  may  be  formed  of  the  scene 
which  we  have  endeavored  to  sketch 
after  the  lapse  of  nearly  two  thirds  of 
a  century  from  the  day  on  which  it  ac- 
tually took  place. 

But  now  we  must  say  a  few  words, 
and  more  minutely  as  to  the  actors  in 
this  scene. 

First  of  all  the  actors  were  divided 
into  two  classes. 

The  one  class  sick,  little  anxious  for 
that  which  is  termed  respect,  a  boun- 
dary much  venerated  by  people  of  mid- 


pelled  to  yield  and  bow  down  with  hea-  j  dling  condition,  but  always  leaped  over 

by  the  very  great  or  the  very  low  ;  the 


viness  before  it. 

Then  the  invalids  were  seen  to  aban- 
don themselves  to  the  voluptuous  effect 
of  this  atmosphere,  when  suddenly  a 
flood  of  delicious  harmony,  executed  by 
invisible  musicians  and  instruments, 
enchanted  the  senses,  and  then  again 
died  away  like  a  soft  flame  amid  these 
perfumes  and  this  warmth. 

Pure  as  the  crystal  from  the  rim  of 
which  it  had  its  birth,  this  music  struck 
upon  the  nerves  with  irresistible  power. 
It  might  have  been  deemed  one  of  those 
mysterious  and  unknown  sounds  in  na- 
ture, which  astonish  and  delight  even 
wild  animals — the  complainings  of  the 
wind  among  the  sonorous  spirals  of  the 
rocks. 

Soon  to  the  sounds  of  the  harmonica 
were  joined  harmonious  voices,  group- 
ed as  a  mass  of  flowers  and  of  which 
soon  after  the  distinct  notes  were  scat- 
tered like  falling  leaves  above  the  heads 
of  the  assembled  company. 

Upon  every  countenance,  which  sur- 
prise had  in  the  first  instance  animated, 
was  seen  the  evidence  of  material  satis- 
faction, induced  by  all  these  powerful 
agents  acting  upon  the  senses.  The 
soul  yielded ;  it  issued  from  the 
labyrinth  in  which  it  conceals  itself 
when  beseiged  by  the  torments  of  the 
flesh,  and  expanding  itself,  free  and 
joyous,  throughout  its  whole  organiza- 
tion it  overcomes  matter  and  transforms 
itself. 

It  was  at  that  moment  that  all  the 
invalids  had  taken  between  their  fingers 
the  iron  rods  and  having  placed  them 
against  their  chests,  their  heads  or 
their  hearts,  according  to  the  seat  of 
their  several  maladies. 

Imagine  then  a  perfect  ecstasy  usurp- 
ing on  every  visage  the  place  of  suffer- 
ing and  anxiety  :  conceive  the  egotisti- 


one,  we  say  really  actors,  had  come  to 
that  saloon  for  the  sole  purpose  of  be- 
ing cured,  and  they  endeavored  with 
all  their  hearts  to  attain  their  desired 
end. 

The  other,  skeptical,  or  simply  cu- 
rious, not  suffering  from  any  malady, 
had  penetrated  into  Mesmer's  house 
as  they  would  have  entered  a  theatre, 
whether  it  was  that  they  wished  to  as- 
certain the  effect  produced  by  being 
seated  around  Mesmer's  enchanted  vat, 
or  whether  simply  as  spectators,  they 
wished  to  study  this  new  system  of 
physicks,  and  merely  occupied  them- 
selves in  observing  the  real  patients 
and  those  who  assisted  in  their  cure. 

Among  the  first,  the  ardent  adepts  of 
Mesmer,  bound  to  his  doctrines  per- 
haps by  gratitude,  was  a  young  woman 
of  fine  form,  beautiful  face  but  some- 
what extravagantly  attired,  who,  being 
submitted  to  the  action  of  the  fluid, 
and  applying  by  means  of  the  iron  rod, 
the  strongest  dose  she  could  obtain  up- 
on her  head  and  the  lower  part  of  her 
chest,  began  to  roll  about  her  lovely 
eyes  as  if  lanquishing  and  half  fainting, 
whilst  her  hands  trembled  under  tho 
first  nervous  titillations,  which  indicate 
the  invasion  of  the  magnetic  fluid. 

When  her  head  was  leaning  on  the 
back  of  the  arm-chair,  every  person 
present  could  at  their  leisure  examine 
that  pale  face,  those  convulsed  lips,  and 
that  lovely  neck,  which  became  mar- 
bled by  degrees  by  the  more  or  less  ra- 
pid flow  of  the  blood. 

Among  the  spectators  there  were 
many  who  kept  their  eyes  fixed  with 
astonishment  on  that  young  woman, 
and  two  or  three  heads  bending  towards 
each  other  communicated  an  idea, 
which  doubtless  must  have  been  a 


100 


THE  QUEEN'S  NECKLACE;  OR,  THE 


•trance  one,  fur  it  redoubled  the  atton 
tion  of  these  inquisitive  persons. 

Madame  de  La  Mothe  was  among 
the  number  of  the  inquisitive,  who 
without  fearing  to  be  recognized,  or 
perhaps  indifferent  on"  the  subject,  helc 
in  her  hand  the  satin  mask  with  which 
she  had  covered  her  face  when  coming 
through  the  crowd.  ' 

Moreover,  from  the  position  in  which 
she  had  placed  herself,  she  was  not  ex- 


posed to  observation. 
She    stood    near   the 


door    leaning 


against  a  column,  veiled  by  a  curtain, 
and  from  this  spot  she  could  see  every 
thing  without  being  seen  herself. 

But  amid  all  she  saw,  that  which  ap- 
peared to  her  most  worthy  of  attention 
was  doubtless  the  face  of  that  young 
woman  electrified  by  the  Mesmerian 
fluid. 

And  indeed  that  face  had  struck  her 
»o  forcibly,  that  for  several  minutes  she 
remained  motionless,  riveted  to  the 
•pot  by  her  eagerness  to  see  and  to  as- 
certain something  further. 

'  Oh  !'  murmured  she,  without  taking 
•ff  her  eyes  from  the  lovely  patient, 
•  there  cannot  be  a  doubt  that  it  is  the 
sister  of  charity,  who  came  to  my  apart- 
ment the  other  evening,  and  who  is  the 
only  cause  of  all  the  interest  which  M. 
de  Rohan  evinced  towards  me.' 

And  fully  convinced  that  she  was  not 
mistaken,  anxious  to  take  advantage  of 
.  the  chance  which  had  obtained  for  her 
that  which  her  many  inquiries  had  been 
viable  to  effect,  she  approached  the 
lady. 

But  at  that  moment  the  young  person 
who  was  thus  convulsed,  closed  her 
eyes,  contracted  her  mouth,,  and  faintly 
beat  the  air  with  both  her  hands. 

With  both  her  hands,  which  it  must 
be  acknowledged  were  not  precisely 
those  small,  beautiful  hands  with  taper- 
ing fingers,  those  hands  white  as  ala- 
baster, which  Madame  de  La  Mothe 
had  so  ranch  admired  only  a  few  days 
before. 

The  contagion  of  this  crisis  was  elec- 
trical with  the  greater  number  of  the 
patients,  their  brain  having  become  sa- 
turated by  perfumes  and  agitated  by 
music.  Their  whole  nervous  system 
had  been  excited  and  worked  upon.  In 
a  short  time,  men  and  women,  led  away 
by  the  example  of  their  young  compa- 
nion, began  to  sigh,  to  utter  undistin- 
fuishabie  murmurs,  then  cries,  and 
moving  arms,  legs  and  heads,  gave  them- 
selves up  fnmkly  nnd  irresistibly  to  one 
•f  those  attacks  n>  which  the  master 


had  given  the  rather  solemn  name  of 
crisis.  / 

At  that  moment  a  man  appeared  in 
the  saloon,  no  one  having  perceived 
how  he  had  entered  it,  nor  could  divine 
whence  he  had  sprung. 

Had  he  arisen  from  the  vat,  as  Phoe- 
bus Apollo  from  the  sea  ?  Was  he  the 
balmy  and  harmonious  vapor  of  the 
room,  which  had  thus  become  condens- 
ed ?  The  fact  was  that  there  he  was 
and  suddenly,  that  his  lilac  colored  coat, 
soft  and  refreshing  to  the  eye,  his  hand- 
some, pallid  face,  calm  and  intelligent, 
did  not  belie  the  rather  supernatural 
character  of  this  apparition. 

He  held  in  his  hand  a  long  wand, 
applied  or  rather  plunged  into  the  fam- 


ous vat. 

He   made   a 
thrown   open, 


sign ;    the  doors  were 
twenty  robust  «ervants 


entered  the  room,  and  with  rapid  ad- 
dress seizing  each  of  the  patients,  who 
bad  begun  to  lose  their  equilibrium, 
even  in  their  arm-chairs,  in  less  than  a 
minute  they  transported  them  into  a 
neighboring  room. 

At  the  moment  of  accomplishing  this 
operation,  which  had  become  interest- 
ng  above  all  from  th*e  paroxysm  of  furi- 
ous  beatitude  to  which  the  young  pa- 
tient had  abandoned  herself,  Madame 
de  La  Mothe,  who  had  gone  with  the 
crowd  of  curious  persons  towards  the 
new  room    prepared  for  the  patients, 
leard  a  man  exclaim  : 
'But  it  is  she,  it  is  she  assuredly.' 
Madame  de  La  Mothe  was  just  about 
to  ask   this   man  whom   he   meant  by 
this   expression,    when    suddenly   two 
women   entered  the  lower  part  of  the 
irst  saloon,  leaning  one  upon  the  other, 
ollowed  at  a  certain  distance  by  a  man 
who  had  all  the  appearance  of  a  confi- 
lential   servant,    although  he  was  dis- 
guised in  plain  citizen's  clothes. 

The  figure  of  these  ladies,  of  one  of 
hem  particularly,   so  much  struck  the 
>ountess,  that  she  made  a  step  towards 
ner. 

At  that  moment  a  loud  cry,  which 
lad  escaped  the  lips  of  the  young  pa- 
tient,  attracted  every  one's  attention, 
.nd  all  flocked  towards  her.     And  im- 
mediately  the    man  who  had   already 
aid  •  'tis  she  !'  and  who  was  standing 
lose   by  Madame  de  La  Mothe,   ex- 
laimed   in   a  hollow  and    mysterious 
oice  : 

'  But  only  look,  gentlemen,  it  us  the 
queen!' 

On   hearing    these   words,    Jeanne 
started. 


MYSTERIES  OF  THE  COURT  OF  LOUIS  XVI. 


101 


4  The  queen !'  cried  several  voices, 
with  terror  and  amazement. 

'  The  queen  at  Mesmer's  !' 

4  The  queen  in  a  crisis!'  w  as  repeat- 
ed by  several  other  voices. 

'  Oh!'  said  the  one,  '  it  is  impossible.' 

'  Look  at  her,'  said  the  unknown, 
calmly ;  '  do  you  know  the  queen,  yes 
or  no  ?' 

4  In  fact,'  murmured  the  greater  num- 
ber of  the  spectators,  '  the  resemblance 
is  almost  incredible.' 

Madame  de  La  Mothe  had  a  mask 
like  all  those  ladies,  who,  on  leaving 
Meemer's  house,  were  to  proceed  to  the 
ball  at  the  opera,  she  could  therefore 
ask  questions  without  any  risk. 

'  Sir,'  said  she  to  the  man  who  had 
made  these  exclamations,  u  etout  portly 
person,  with  a  full  and  rather  high  col- 
ored face,  and  eyes  which  were  singu- 
larly sparkling,  '  did  you  not  say  that 
the  queen  is  here  ?' 

'Oh !  madam,  that  cannot  be  doubted,' 
he  replied. 

'  And  where  ?' 

'  Why  that  young  woman .  whom  you 
see  yonder  on  the  violet-colored  cush- 
ions in  such  an  ardent  crisis  that  she 
cannot  moderate  her  transports,  that  is 
the  queen.' 

'  But  upon  what  do  you  found  your 
opinion,  sir,  that  the  woman  yonder  is 
the  queen  ?' 

'  Why,  only  upon  this,  madam,  that 
that  woman  is  the  queen,'  replied  the 
accuser  with  imperturbable  gravity. 

And  he  left  his  interrogator  to  mix 
with  the  crowd  and  propagate  his 
news. 

Jeanne  turned  away  from  the  almost 
revolting  spectacle  offered  by  the  epi- 
leptic person.  But  she  had  scarcely 
advanced  two  steps  towards  the  door 
when  she  found  herself  face  to  face 
with  the  two  ladies,  who  before  advanc- 
ing to  the  room  in  which  the  patients 
had  been  carried,  were  examining  with 
very  lively  interest  the  vat,  the  trin- 
gles,  and  the  lid. 

Jeanne  had  scarcely  caught  a  glimpse 
of  the  elder  of  the  two  Indies,  tha,n  in 
her  turn,  she  uttered  a  loud  cry. 

1  What  is  the  matter  ?'  said  the  lady. 

Jeanne  instantly  took  off  her  mask. 

'  Do  you  recognize  me  ?'  she  said. 

The  lady  started  slightly  but  imme- 
diately restrained  herself. 

1  No,  madam,'  said  she,  somewhat 
confused. 

'  Well  then,  madam,  I  recognize  you 
and  I  will  immediately  give  you  a  proof 
of  it.' 


The  two  ladies  on  hearing  this  asser- 
tion clung  to  each  other  with  some  Ap- 
parent degree  of  alarm. 

Jeanne  drew  from  her  pocket  the 
box  containing  the  portrait., 

'  You  forgot  this  at  my  house,'  Mid 
she. 

'But  even  should  that  be  the  case, 
madam,'  observed  the  elder,  '  why  all 
this  emotion  ?' 

'  I  am  moved  by  the  danger  your  Ma- 
jesty is  exposed  to  in  this  place.' 

'  Explain  yourself.'  » 

'  But  not  before  you  have  put  on  thi* 
mask,  madam.' 

And  she  held  out  her  mask  to  the 
queen,  who  hesitated,  thinking  herself 
sufficiently  concealed  by  her  hood. 

'  For  mercy's  sake,  do  not  loose  a 
moment,'  continued  Jeanne. 

'  Put  it  on,  "madam;  put  it  on,'  Mid 
the  second  lady  to  the  queen. 

The  queen  negligently  put  the  mask 
on  her  face. 

'And  now,'  said  Jeanne,  'pray 
come.' 

And  she  dragged  away  the  two  la- 
dies so  eagerly  that  they  only  stopped 
when  they  reached  the  street  door. 

1  But,  tell  me  at  length,'  cried  the 
queen  somewhat  out  of  breath  from  the 
haste  in  which  they  had  descended. 

'  Your  Majesty  has  not  been  seen  by 
any  one  ?' 

'  I  do  not  think  that  any  one  observed 
me.' 

'So  much  the  better.' 

'  But,  will  you  at  length  explain  y««r- 
self?' 

'  Let  your  Majesty  for  the  moment 
believe  your  faithful  servant,  when  she 
tells  you  that  you  are  incurring  the 
greatest  danger.' 

'  And  in  what  does  this  danger  con- 
sist ?' 

'  I  will  have  the  honor  of  explaining 
all  to  your  Majesty  if  you. will  deign  to 
grant  me  an  hour's  audience  whenever 
it  may  please  you.  But  the  story  is  a 
long  -one  and  your  JMajesty  might  be 
recognized,  remarked.' 

And  as  she  observed  that  the  queon 
evinced  some  degree  of  impatience. 

,  Oh  !  madam,'  said  she  to  the  Prin- 
cess de  Lambalie,  '  aid  me,  I  entreat 
you,  to-  persuade  the  queeu  to  leave 
this  house  and  instantly.' 

The  Princess  made  a  supplicating 
gesture. 

•  Well  then,  as  you  will  have  it  so,' 
said  the  queen,  then  turning  to  Madame 
de  La  Mothe,  '  you  asked  me  for  an 
audience,'  she  said. 


102 


THE  QUEEN'S  NECKLACE ;    OR,  THE 


4 1  aspire  to  have  the  honor  of  giving 
to  your  Majesty  an  explanation  of  my 
conduct.' 

'  Well  then,  bring  me  back  this  box, 
and  ask  for  the  door  keeper  Laurent, 
who  will  be  forewarned.' 

And  then  turning  towards  the  street, 

'•Kommen  sie  hier,  Weber,'  cried  she 
in  German. 

A  carriage  rapidly  approached. 

The  Queen  and  the  Princess  de 
Lamballe  hastily  jumped  into  it. 

Madame  de  La  Mothe  remained  at 
the  door  until  it  was  out  of  sight. 

1  Oh !'  said  she  to  herself,  '  I  have 
done  well  to  act  as  I  have  done,  but  as 
to  the  future,  we  must  reflect.' 


CHAPTER  XVITI. 

MADEMOISELLE      OLJVA. 

DURING  this  time  the  man  who  had 
pointed  out  to  the  spectators  the  per- 
son whom  he  pretended  was  the  queen, 
tapped  one  of  them,  whose  eye  was 
eager  and  whose  coat  was  thread-bare, 
on  the  shoulder. 

4  What  a  capital  subject  this  would 
be  for  you,'  said  he,  '  who  are  the  edi- 
tor of  a  newspaper  ;  what  a  magnificent 
article  it  would  make.' 

'  And  how  so  ?'  inquired  the  Gazet- 
teer. 

4  Would  you  like  to  have  a  summary 
of  it?' 

'  Willingly.' 

4  Well  then,  thus  it  should  be:  "  On 
the  danger  of  being  born  a  subject  in  a 
country  the  king  of  which  is  governed 
by  the  queen,  the  said  queen  being 
fond  of  «  crisis."  ' 

The  gazetteer  laughed. 

'  And  the  Bastille  ?'  said  he. 

4  Pooh  !  nonsense.  Are  there  not 
anagrams  by  which  all  the  royal  censors 
can  be  avoided.  I  wish  to  know  whe- 
ther any  censor  would  prohibit  you  from 
relating  the  history  of  Prince  Silou  and 
the  Princess  Etteniotna,  sovereign  of 
Narfec  ?  Hey !  What  do  you  say  to 
that  ?' 

4  Oh  !  yes,'  said  the  gazetteer  with 
enthusiasm,  '  the  i<ieu  is  an  admirable 
one.' 

4  And  I  beg  you  to  believe,  that  a  chap- 
ter entitled  4'  The  crisis  of  the  Princess 
Etteniotna  at  the  house  of  theFakir  Rem- 
$em"  would  meet  with  great  success  in 
the  drawing-rooms.' 

4 1  believe  it  as  firmly  as  you  can.' 


'  Well  go  then,  and  write  all  that 
with  your  best  ink.'  • 

The  gazetteer  grasped  the  hand  of 
the  unknown. 

•  Shall  I  send  you  a  few  numbers  of 
it  ?'  said  he.     '  1  will  do  so  with  great 
pleasure,  if  you  will  tell  me  your  name 
and  address.' 

'  Yes,  certes,  the  idea  quite  delights 
me,  and  executed  by  you  its  value  will 
increase  cent  per  cent.  How  many 
copies  do  you  usually  print  of  your 
small  pamphlets  ?' 

4  Two  thousand.' 

'Do  me  a  service,  then.' 

'  Most  willingly.'  j*  % 

4  Take  these  fifty  louis,  and  strike  off 
six  thousand.' 

'  How,  sir — what — you  really  over- 
whelm me — let  me  at  least  know  the 
name  of  so  generous  a  patron  of  literature. 

4 1  will  let  you  know  it  when  I  send 
to  your  office  for  a  thousand  copies  at 
two  livres  each — it  will  be  published 
this  day  week  will  it  not  ?' 

'  I  will  work  at  it  day  and  night,  sir.' 

'  Take  care  to  make  it  very  amus- 
ing.' 

4  So  much  so  that,  with  the  exception 
of  one  person,  all  Paris  shall  laugh 
even  to  tears.' 

•  And   that  one  will   weep   tears  of 
blood,  is  it  not  so  ?' 

•  Oh  !  sir,  how  brilliant  is  your  wit !' 

•  You   are   very   good.       By-the-by, 
date  the  publication  from  London.' 

4  Oh !  as  usual.' 

4  Sir,  I  am  your  obedient  servant.' 

And  the  stout  unknown  dismissed 
the  pamphleteer,  who,  his  fifty  louig 
in  his  pocket  flew  off  as  lightly  as  a 
bird  of  il!  omen. 

The  unknown  remained  alone,  or 
rather  without  companion,  looked  once 
more  into  the  room  in  which  were  the 
patients,  and  fixed  his  eyes  upon  the 
young  woman  whose  ecstasy  had  been 
succeeded  by  a  state  of  utter  prostra- 
tion. A  femme  de  chambre  nppointed 
to  wait  upon  ladies  when  undergoing 
the  crisis,  was  chastely  occupied  ill 
smoothing  down  her  clothes,  which  had 
been  somewhat  disordered. 

He  remarked  her  delicate  beauty, 
her  fine  and  voluptuous  features,  the 
noble  grace  of  her  deep,  sleep  nnd  then 
retracing  his  steps  : 

4  Decidedly  the  resemblance  is  per- 
fectly terrrifying,'  said  he,  -God  who 
created  her  must  hatJfe  designed  it,  and 
he  has  condemned,  by  anticipation,  the 
one  down  yonder  to  whom  this  one  so 
much  resembles.' 


MYSTERIES  OF  THE  COURT  OF  LOUIS  XVI. 

.  ^^  » 


103 


At  the  moment  that  he  had  imagined 
this  threatening  thought,  the  young 
woman  raised  herself  slowly  upon  the 
cushions  of  the  sofa,  and  steadying  her- 
self by  taking  hold  of  the  arm  of  a 
neighbor  already  recovered  from  the 
ecstasy,  she  began  to  arrange  her  dress 
which  was  not  in  the  most  decent 
plight. 

She  blushed  a  little  on  observing  that 
the  attention  of  the  spectators  was  fix- 
ed on  her,  replied  with  coquettish  po- 
liteness to  the  serious  though  kindly 
spoken  questions  of  Mesmer ;  then 
stretching  her  round  arms  and  her  well 
formed  legs,  like  a  cat  when  awaken- 
ing, she  walked  across  the  three  rooms, 
noting,  without  loosing  one  of  them, 
.the  glances  whether  of  mockery,  desire 
or  alarm,  with  which  her  passage  was 
greeted  by  the  spectators. 

But  that  which  surpissed  her  so  much 
as  to  make  her  smile,  was,  that  while 
passing  by  a  group  who  were  whisper- 
ing in  one  corner  of  the  drawing-room, 
she  received  instead  of  amorous  glances 
and  gallant  witticisms  a  volley  of  bows 
so  respectful,  that  no  Fre'nch  courtier 
could  have  given  more  formal  ones  had 
he  been  saluting  the  queen  herself. 

And  in  truth  this  stupified  and  rever- 
ential group  had  beeu  hastily  brought 
together  by  the  indefatigable  unknown, 
who  having  placed  himself  behind  them 
said  to  thorn  in  a  whisper. 

'  That  mutters  not,  gentlemen,  that 
matters  not,  she  is  not  the  less  queen 
of  France.  Let  us  bow  to  her ;  bow, 
bow.' 

The  little  person,  the  object  of  so 
much  respect,  hastened  with  some 
anxiety  through  the  last  vestibule  and 
reached  the  court-yard. 

There,  her  wearied  eyes  glanced 
round  to  find  a  hackney  coach  or  a  se- 
dan chair,  but  there  was  neither  the 
one  nor  the  other  ;  then  after  about  a 
minute's  indecision  and  when  she  was 
about  to  venture  her  delicately  small 
feet  upon  the  pavement  a  tall  lackey  ap- 
proached her. 

'  Madame  is  looking  for  her  carnage  ?' 
said  he. 

•  I  have  no  carriage,'  she  replied. 

'  Madame  came  here  in  a   hackney- 
coach.' 
'  Yes.' 
4  From  the  Rue  Dauphine.' 

•  Yes.' 

'I  will  conduct  madame  to  her 
house.' 

^  '  Well  then,  take  me  there,'  said  the 
little  person,  with  a  very  deliberate  rip, 


without  retaining  for  more  than  a  mo- 
ment, the  species  of  anxiety  which  this 
unexpected  proposal  would  have  caused 
in  any  other  woman. 

The  lackey  made  a  sign,  which  was 
immediately  replied  to  by  a  handsome 
looking  carriage  driving  up  to  the  door 
to  receive  the  lady. 

The  lackey  put  up  the  steps  and  call- 
ed aloud  to  the  coachman,  '  Rue  Dau- 
phine.' 

The  horses  set  oft'  with  rapidity. 
When  she  reached  the  Pont  Neuf,  the 
little  lady,  who  much  liked  that  mode 
of  going,  as  Lafontaine  says,  regretted 
that  she  did  not  live  as  far  off  as  the 
Jardin  des  Plantes. 

The  carnage  stopped,  the  steps  were 
again  let  down,  and  the  well-instructed 
lackey  held  out  his  hand  for  the  key  of 
the  street  door,  by  aid  of  which  the  io- 
habitancs  of  thirty  thousand  houses  in 
Paris,  which  are  not  hotels,  and  who 
have  neither  door-keepers  nor  Swiss, 
enter  their  dwellings. 

The  lackey  therefore  opened  the  door 
in  order  to  spare  the  fingers  of  the  little 
lady  ;  and  then,  at  the  moment  the  lat- 
ter entered  the  dark  passage,  he  bowed 
to  her  and  closed  the  door. 

The  carriage  rolled  off  and  soon  dis- 
appeared. 

'  Well,  really,'  said  the  young  woman 
to  herself,  'this  is  a  very  agreeable  ad- 
venture. It  is  very  gallant  on  the  part 
of  Mr.  Mesmer — oh !  how  tired  I  am — 
he  will  have  foreseen  this.  He  is  a 
great  physician.' 

While  saying  these  words  she  had 
reached  the  second  story  of  the  house, 
on  the  landing-place  of"  which  there 
were  two  doors. 

She  knocked  at  one  of  them,  and  it 
was  immediately  opened  by  an  old  wo- 
man. 

'Ah!  good  evening,  mother,  is  the 
supper  ready  ?' 

;  Yes,  and  even  cold.' 

•  Is  he  there  ?  he. 

'  No,  not  yet ;  but  the  gentleman  \» 
there.' 

'  What  gentleman  ?' 

'The  one  with  whom  you  wish  to 
speak  this  evening.' 

'I!' 

'Yes,  you.' 

This  dialogue  had  taken  place  in  a 
sort  of  ante-chamber  with  glazed*  doors, 
and  separated  the  landing-place  from  a 
large  room  which  fronted  on  the  street. 

Through  the  panes  of  glass  could  be 
distinctly  seen  the  lamp  by  which  thre 
room  was  lighted,  the  Ipok  of  which,  if 


THE  QUEEN'S  NECKLACE;  OR,  THE 


m 
au 


104 

- 

not  altogether  pleasing,    was   at   least 
passable. 

Old  yellow  silk  curtains,  which  time 
had  blanched  and  veined  in  patches,  a 
few  chairs  covered  with  greent  Urecht 
velvet,  and  a  large  chest  of  twelve  draw- 
ers of  inlaid  wood,  an  old  yellow  sofa- 
such  was  the  magnificence  of  this  apart- 
ment. 

There  was  an  old  clock  upon  the 
chimney-piece,  flanked  by  two  blue 
japan  vases,  visibly  cracked. 

The  young  woman  abruptly  opened 
the  glazed  door  and  walked  up  to  the 
sofa,  upon  which  she  saw,  and  very 
tranquilly  seated,  a  good-looking  man, 
rather  stout  than  lean,  and  who  with 
his  very  handsome  white  hand  was 
playing  with  a  very  rich  lace  frill. 

She  did  not  recognize  this  man,  but 
our  readers  will  very  readily  recognize 
him  ;  it  was  he  who  had  assembled  the 
group  of  inquiring  persons,  to  see  the 
pretended  queen  pass  by  ;  the  man  who 
had  given  the  fifty  louis  to  the  seedy 
pamphleteer. 

The  young  woman  had  not  even  time 
to  commence  the  conversation. 

That  singular  personage  made  a  sort 
of  salutation,  something  between  a  nod 
and  a  bow,  and  fixing  his  brilliant  gaze, 
replete  with  benevolence,  on  the  mis- 
tress of  the  lodging,  said  to  her  : 

'  I  know  what  you  are  about  to  ask 

e,  but — but  I  shall  reply  better  by 
'questioning  you  myself.  You  are  Ma- 
demoiselle Oliva?' 

'  Yes,  sir.' 

'  A  charming  woman,  very  nervous, 
and  much  captivated  by  the  system  of 
Mr.  Mesmer.' 

« I  have  just  left  his  house,' 

'  That  is  very  well ;  but  that  does 
not  explain  to  you,  as  your  fine  eyes  are 
now  asking  of  me,  how  it  is  thut  you 
find  me  upon  your  sofa,  and  that  is  what 
you  are  at  this  moment  most  particu- 
larly desirous  to  ascertain.' 

4  You  have  guessed  rightly,  sir.' 

'  Will  you  do  me  the  favor  to  sit 
down,  for  if  you  remain  standing,  I 
shall  be  obliged  to  rise  also,  and  then 
we  could  not  converse  conveniently.' 

1  You  may  congratulate  yoursdi"  on 
having  a  very  extraordinary  mode  of 
proceeding,'  replied  the  young  woman 
whom  we  shall  lictu  i-t'orward  call  Ma- 
demoiselle Olivu,  as  she  has  deigned  to 
answer  to  that  name. 

4  Mademoiselle,  I  saw  you  just  now 
at  Mr.  Mesmer's  house,  and  I  found 
you  such  as  I  wished  to  find  you.' 

•Sir." 


'  Oh !  do  not  alarm  yourself,  Made 
moiselle,  I  do  not  say  that  I  thought 
you  charming.  No,  that  would  have 
the  effect  of  a  declaration  of  love,  and 
that  comes  not  within  my  intention. 
Do  not  withdraw  so  far  from  me,  I  beg 
of  you,  or  you  will  oblige  me  to  bawl 
like  a  deaf  man.' 

4  What  is  it  you  can  want,  then  ?' 
asked  Oliva  very  ingenuously. 

'  I  am  aware,'  said  the  unknown, 
'  that  you  are  accustomed  to  hear  that 
you  are  beautiful.  As  to  me,  although 
I  really  think  so,  I  have  something  else> 
to  propose  to  you.' 

'  Really,  sir,  you  speak  to  me  in  .1 
tone' 

'  Do  not  alarm  yourself  before  you 
have  heard  me.  Is  there  any  one  con- 
cealed here  ?' 

1  There  is  no  one  concealed — but, 
proceed' 

1  Then,  if  there  is  no  one  concealed, 
we  need  not  be  cautious  with  regard  to 
what  we  say.  What  do  you  say  to  a 
little  partnership  between  us  ?' 

4  A  partnership — ah  !  you  see  now? — 

'  You  are  mistaking  me  once  more. 
I  did  not  say  a  connection,  but  a  part- 
nership. I  am  not  talking  to  you  of 
love,  I  am  talking  of  business.' 

•  What   sort   of  business  ?'  inquired 
Oliva,  whose  curiosity   betrayed  itself 
by  a  very  visible  astonishment. 

•  What  do  you  employ  yourself  about 
all  day  long  ?' 

'  Why' 

I  Do  not  be   afraid ;  I  did  not  coma 
here  to   blame  you,   tell   me  what  yoa 
please.' 

I 1  do  nothing,  or  at  all  events  as  Httfo 
as  possible.' 

'  You  are  indolent,  then  ?' 

'Oh!' 

'That  is  quite  right.' 

4  Ah  !  you  say  that  it  is  right." 

4  Undoubtedly  ;  what  matters  it  to  me 
that  you  are  indolent.  Do  you  like  go- 
ing about  ?' 

4  Very  much.' 

'  Frequenting  the  theatres  and  balls'?' 

4  Oh  !  beyond  every  thing.' 

4  Good  living?" 

'  Above  nil.' 

'  If  I  were  to  give  you  twenty-five 
louis  a  month,  would  you  refuse  it  ?' 

4  Sir!' 

4  My  dear  Mademoiselle  Oliva,  there, 
you  are  beginning  to  doubt  again.  It 
was,  however,  agreed  between  us,  that 
you  were  not  to  alarm  yourself.  I  said 
twenty-fwe  louis,  as  .1  might  have  said 
tiftv.'* 


MYSTERIES  OF  THE  COURT  OF  LOUIS  XVI. 


106 


•  I  should  like  fifty  better  than  twen- 
ty-five ;  but  what  I  like  still  better  than 
even  fifty,  is  to  retain  the  right  of  choos- 
ing my  own  lover.' 

'  Zounds  !  have  I  not  already  told  you 
that  I  have  no  wish  to  be  your  lover. 
Wake  your  mind  easy  then.' 

'And  I  say,  zounds !  what  do  you 
want  me  to  do,  then,  to  earn  your  fifty 
louis  ?' 

•  Did  we  say  fifty  ?' 

•  Yes.' 

4  Well,  be  it  fifty,  then.  You  shall 
receive  me  at  your  dwelling  ;  you  shall 
look  at  me  as  good  naturedly  as  possi- 
ble, you  shall  take  my  arm  when  I  wish 
you  to  do  so ;  you  shall  wait  for  me 
where  I  tell  you  to  wait  for  me.' 

'  But  I  have  a  lover,  sir.' 

'And  what  then?' 

'  What  do  you  mean  by  what  then  V 

4  Why,  turn  him  off,  by  Jupiter,' 

'  Oh !  Beausire  is  not  to  be  turned  off 
TO  easily.' 

'  Would  you  wish  me  to  help  you  to 
,  u»t 


doit? 

'  No  ;  I  love  him.1 
'Oh!' 

•  A  little.' 

'  That  little  is  too  much.' 

4  But  so  it  is.' 

'  Well,  then,  we  must  let  Beausire 
be.' 

'  You  are  accommodating,  sir.' 

4  Till  I  can  do  better.  Do  my  condi- 
tions suit  you  ?' 

'  They  do  suit  me,  if  you  have  told 
me  the  whole  of  them.' 

•  Listen  to  me,  my  dear,  I  have  told 
you  all  I  have  to  tell  for  the  present.' 

'  Upon  your  word  of  honor  ?' 
1  Upon  my  word   of  honor ;  but  yet 
there   is   one    thing  you  must  under- 
stand.' 

'  A*d  what  is  that  ?' 

1  It  is  that  should  it  be  necessary,  you 

should  really  be  my  mistress' 

4  Ah  !  do  you  see ;  there  can  never  be 
any  necessity  for  that,  sir.' 
4  But  only  to  appear  so?' 
'  Oh  !  as  to  that,  as  you  please.' 
'  Well  then,  we  are  agreed.' 
'  Perfectly.' 

'  Here  is  the  first  month  in  advance.' 
And  ho  held  out  to  her   a  rouleau  of 
of  fifty  louis  without  even  touching  the 
ends  of  her  fingers,  and  as  she  hesitat- 
ed he  slipped  the  rouleau  into  the  pock- 
et of  her  dress,  without   even   grazing 
that  round  and  beautifully  formed  waist 
which  the  great  connoisseurs  of  Spain 
would  not  have  disdained  as  he  did. 
The  gold   had  scarcely   reached    th« 
14 


bottom  of  her  pocket,  when  two  sharp 
knocks  at  the  street  door  made  Oliva 
spring  to  the  window. 

4  Good  heaven  !  save  yourself  at  once, 
'tis  he." 

4  He  !  who  ?' 

4  Beausire — my  lover — get  up,  sir, 
quick  !' 

4  By  my  faith,  BO  much  the  worse.' 

4  What  do  you  mean  by  so  much  the 
worse  ?  Why  he  will  tear  you  to 
pieces  !' 

4  Pooh !' 

4  Do  you  hear  how  he  knocks  ?  He 
will  break  down  the  door.' 

4  Order  your  woman  to  open  it. 
Why  the  deuse  do  you  not  give  him  a 
key?' 

And  the  unknown  stretched  himself 
on  the  sofa,  saying  to  himself: 

4 1  must  see  this  rascal,  that  I  may 
form  an  opinion  of  him.' 

The  knocks  continued  accompanied 
by  frightful  oaths,  the  sound  of  which 
ascended  higher  than  the  second  story. 

4 Go  and  open  the  door,  mother!' 
said  Oliva  in  a  violent  passion  ;  '  and  ua 
to  you,  sir,  so  much  the  worse  should 
any  accident  befall  you.' 

4  Just  as  you  say,  so  much  the  worse,' 
tranquilly  observed  the  unknown  with- 
out stirring  from  the  sofa. 

Oliva  listened  with  a  palpitating  heart 
on  the  landing  place. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

KONSIEDa    BEAUSIRE. 

OLIVA  threw  herself  in  the  way  of 
a  furious  man,  who  with  outstretched 
hand:;,  pale  face,  and  clothes  in  great 
disorder  burst  into  the  room  uttering 
hoarse  imprecations. 

4  Come  now,  Beausire,'  said  she  iu  a 
voice  which  did  not  evince  so  much  ter- 
ror, as  to  wrong  the  innate  courage  of 
this  woman. 

'  Let  me  go,'  cried  the  new  coiner, 
releasing  himself  with  brutal  strength 
from  the  hold  of  Oliva. 

And  he  went  on  in  a  tone  of  pro- 
gressive fury. 

4  Oh !  it  was  because  there  was  a  man 
here  that  the  door  was  not  opened ! 
Ha!  ha." 

The  unknown,  as  we  are  already 
aware,  had  remained  upon  the  sofa,  in 
an  attitude  at  once  calm  and  motionless, 
which  Monsieur  Beausire  might  huve 


106 


THE  QUEEN'S  NECKLACE;  OR,  THE 


considered  as  arising  from  indecision 
or  even  terror. 

He  placed  himself  before  this  man, 
grinding  his  teeth,  and  with  looks  that 
boded  him  no  good. 

4 1  suppose  that  you  will  answer  me, 
sir,'  said  he. 

4  What  would  you  have  me  say  to 
you,  my  dear  Monsieur  Beausire  ?'  re- 
plied the  unknown. 

4  What  business  have  you  here  1 
.But  first  of  all  who  are  you  ?' 

'  I  am  a  quiet  man  on  whom  you  are 
glaring  with  most  terrific  eyes ;  and 
moreover  I  was  conversing  with  ma- 
dam, in  a  most  proper  and  honorable 
manner.' 

4  Yes,  undoubtedly,  in  a  most  proper 
and  honorable  manner,'  said  Oliva. 

4  As  to  you,  keep  your  tongue  quiet!' 
vociferated  Beausire. 

4  There,  there,'  said  the  unknown, 
4  do  not  scold  the  lady  in  such  a  way, 
for  she  is  perfectly  innocent,  and  if  you 
are  in  a  bad  humor — ' 

4 1  a  m  all  that — ' 

4  He  has  been  losing  at  play,'  said 
Oliva,  in  a  half  whisper. 

4 1  have  been  cleaned  out  by  all  the 
devils !'  bawled  Beausire. 

4  And  you  would  not  be  sorry  to  clear 
out  somebody  else,'  said  the  unknown, 
smiling,  4  that  is  readily  conceived  my 
dear  M.  Beausire.' 

4  A  truce  to  your  ill  timed  jokes,  you, 
and  do  me  the  pleasure  to  turn  out  of 
this.' 

4  Oh  !  Monsieur  Beausire,  be  a  little 
indulgent — ' 

4  By  the  death  of  all  the  devils  !  get 
up  and  be  off,  or  I  will  smash  the  sofa 
to  pieces  and  all  that  is  upon  it.' 

4  You  did  not  tell  me,  Madamoiselle 
that  M.  de  Beausire  was  subject  to 
these  red  moons.  Good  Lord  !  what 
ferocity.' 

The  exasperated  Beausire  made  a 
most  tragical  gesture,  and  in  drawing 
his  sword  described  with  it  and  his  arm 
a  circle  at  least  ten  feet  in  circumfer- 
ence. 

•Once  more  I  tell  you  to  get  up;  if 
not,  I  will  nail  you  to  the  back  of  the 
sofa.' 

4  Really ;  it  is  not  possible  to  be  more 
disagreeable,'  replied  the  unknown, 


his  sword  in  his  hand  without  rising 
from  his  seat.  '  Be  quiet  or  two  thing* 
will  happen.  The  first  is  that  you  will 
confuse  M.  Beausire  and  he  will  spit 
himself  upon  my  sword,  and  the  second, 
that  the  guard  will  come  up  stairs,  will 
beat  you  and  will  conduct  you  straight 
to  Saint  Lazare.' 

Oliva  exchanged  her  cries  for  the 
most  expressive  pantomime. 

This  formed  a  curious  spectacle.  On 
the  one  side  M.  Beausire.  unbraced, 
half  drunk,  trembling  with  rage,  waa 
lunging  straightforward,  and  thrusting 
unskilfully  and  without  the  slightest 
tactic,  at  an  im-penetrable  adversary. 

On  the  other,  a  man  seated  upon  a 
sofa  ;  one  hand  on  his  knee,  the  other 
armed  with  a  small  dress  sword,  parry- 
ing with  much  agility,  but  without  ex- 
ertion, and  laughing  in  such  a  way  us 
would  have  terrified  Saint  George  him- 
self. 

Beausire's  sword  had  not  for  a  mo- 
ment kept  a  forward  line,  diverted  as  it 
was  by  the  quick  parries  of  his  adver- 
sary. 

Beausire  began  to  feel  fatigued,  to 
breathe  hard,  but  his  rage  had  given 
place  to  an  involuntary  terror  ;  he  re- 
flected that  if  that  complaisant  sword 
were  only  to  be  thrust  forward,  after 
some  parry,  that  he,  Beausire,  was  done 
for.  He  became  confused,  retreated 
a  step,  and  his  sword  then  struck  but 
the  point  of  his  adversary's.  The  latter 
caught  it  vigorously  in  tierce  and  with 
a  jerk  twitched  it  out  of  Beausire'a 
hand,  and  sent  it  flying  like  a  feather. 
The  sword  whizzed  across  the  room, 
went  through  the  window  and  disap- 
peared. 

Beausire  no  longer  knew  which  way 
to  look. 

4Ah!M.  Beausire,'  said  the  un- 
known, 4you  should  be  more  careful. 
Should  your  sword  fall  point  downwards, 
and  any  one  be  passing,  he  would  be  a 
dead  man.' 

Beausire,  recalled  to  himself,  rushed 
out  of  the  door  and  precipitated  himself 
down  the  stairs  in  order  to  regain  his 
weapon,  and  prevent  an  accident  which 
might  put  him  on  bad  terms  with  thn 
police. 

During   this  time    Oliva  had   seizud 


gently  and  with  his  left  hand  only,  draw-  j  the  hand  of  the  vanquisher  and 
ing  from  its  sheath  a  small  sword  which    him: 
he  had  placed  behind  him  on  the  sofa. 
Olivn  uttered  piercing  shrieks. 


•<> 


Oh !   .Mademoiselle,    Mademoiselle, 
be  quiet  I  hog  of   you,'  said    the    un- 


known   trHM(|uil!y,  who  at    length    held    h«at  me.' 


4  Oh !  sir,  you  are  courageous,  but 
M.  Beausire  is  treacherous,  and  besides 
you  expose  me  by  remaining  here,  and 
assuredly  when  you  are  gone  lie  will 


MYSTERIES  OF  THE  COURT  OF  LOUIS  XVI. 


107 


'  Then,  I  will  not  stir.' 

•Oh!  yes,  yes,  pray  go.  Besides 
when  he  beats  me,  I  beat  him  and  I 
am  always  the  strongest,  but  then  it  is 
because  I  have  nothing  to  conceal. 
"Withdraw  I  beg  of  you.' 

'But  pray  attend  to  one  thing,  my 
lovely  one,  and  that  is,  if  I  go  I  shall  find 
him  below  waiting  for  me  on  the  stair- 
case :  we  shall  fight  again ;  and  on  a 
stair-case  one  cannot  always  parry 
double  against  carte,  double  against 
tierce  and  a  half  circle,  as  upon  a  sofa.' 

•  And  then  ?' 

'Then  I  shall  kill  Master  Beausire 
or  he  will  kill  me.' 

'  Good  heaven !  that  is  true — and  what 
a  dreadful  scandal  it  would  bring  upon 
the  house.' 

'  Which  ought  to  be  avoided  ;  there- 
fore I  remain.' 

'  For  the  love  of  Heaven,  stay  not 
here.  You  can  go  up  to  the  next  story 
and  wait  there  till  he  has  come  in.  He, 
who  will  think  you  still  here,  will  not 
seek  for  you  elsewhere,  and  when  once 
he  has  put  his  foot  inside  this  door,  you 
will  hear  me  double  lock  it.  My  man 
will  then  be  imprisoned  by  me,  as  I 
shall  put  the  key  in  my  pocket.  Then 
make  good  your  retreat  while  I  shall  be 
fighting  courageously  to  gain  time.' 

'  You  are  a  charming  girl.  Till  we 
meet  again — ' 

'  Till  we  meet  again  !  and  when  shall 
that  be  ?' 

4  To-night,  if  you  please.' 

'  How  !  to-night ;  are  you  mad  ?' 

1  Assuredly.  Is  there  not  a  ball  at 
the  Opera  to-night?' 

•  But  reflect  a   moment,  it  is  already 
midnight.' 

'I  know  that,  but  what  matters  that 
to  me  ?' 

'"  We  must  have  dominos.' 

•  Beausin-   will   go   to  fetch  them   if 
you  beat  him  well.' 

'  You  are  right,'  said  Oliva,  laugh- 
ing. 

•  And  there   are  ten  louis  for  the  do- 
minos,' said     the    unknown,     laughing 
also. 

•  Adieu  !   adieu  !  thanks.' 

And  she  pushed  him  towards  the 
landing  place. 

'  Good !  he  is  juat  closing  the  door  be- 
low, 'said  the  unknown. 

4  There  is  only  a  fetch,  and  a  bolt  in- 
side.' 

'  But  if,  by  chance,  you  should  be 
beaten  ;  how  will  you  let  me  know  it.' 

She  thought  for  au  instant. 

'  You  must  have  servants,'  she  eaid. 


'  Yes,  I  will  place  one  under  your 
window.' 

'  Very  well,  and  tell  him  to  look  up 
until  a  small  note  falls  upon  his  nose.' 

'  Be  it  so,  adieu.' 

The  unknown  ascended  to  the  story 
above.  Nothing  was  more  easy,  the 
stair-case  was  dark  and  Oliva,  calling  af- 
ter Beausire  in  a  loud  voice,  managed 
to  drown  the  noise  of  her  new  accom- 
plice's foot-steps. 

'  Are  you  coming,  madman  ?'  cried 
she  to  Beaurise,  who  was  slowly  com- 
ing up  stairs  reflecting  on  the  moral 
and  physical  superiority  of  this  un- 
known, who  had  so  insolently  establish- 
ed himself  in  the  domicile  of  another. 

He  at  last  however  reached  the  land- 
ing place  where  Oliva  was  waiting 
for  him.  His  sword  was  in  its  scab- 
bard ;  he  was  concocting  a  speech. 

Olivia  seized  him  by  the  shoulders 
pulled  him  into  the  ante-chamber  and 
double  locked  the  door,  as  she  had 
promised. 

The  unknown,  as  he  descended  the 
stairs,  could  hear  the  beginning  of  a 
struggle,  in  which  resounded  by  the 
sharpness  of  their  sound,  like  brass  in- 
struments in  an  orchestra,  that  species 
of  blows  which  are  called  vulgarly  and 
from  onomatopeia,  slaps. 

These    slaps   were  mingled  with  re- 
proaches  and  *shrieke.      The   voice   oft* 
Beausire    thundered,  that  of  Oliva  was 
shrill  and  terrifying. 

'  I  never  could  have  imagined.'  said 
the  unknown  while  effecting  his  retreat, 
that  this; woman  who  was  so  terrified 
just  now  at  the  return  of  the  master, 
could  have  possessed  such  an  astonish- 
ing power  of  resistance.' 

The  unknown  lost  no  time  in  await- 
ing the  conclusion  of  the  scene. 

'  The  commencement  has  been  too 
warm,'  thought  he,  '  for  the  winding 
up  to  be  prolonged.' 

He  turned  the  corner  of  the  Rue 
Anjou  Dauphin,  in  which  he  found  his 
carriage  waiting  for  him,  having  back- 
ed into  that  court. 

He  whispered  a  word  to  one  of  his 
servants  who  left  the  carriage  and  took 
up  a  position  in  front  of  Oliva's  win- 
dows, concealing  himself  under  the 
shadow  of  a  small  arcade  which  jutted 
out  before  the  entrance  to  an  antiquated 
house. 

Thus   placed,  the    man  who  saw  the 

lighted  windows   could  judge  from  the 

shadows  flitting  on  the  window  curtains, 

'  of  all  that  waa  going  on    in  the    apart- 

1  ment. 


,108 


THE  QUEEN'S  NECKLACE;  OR,  THE 


These  shadows,  at  first  greatly  agi- 
tated, became  calm  by  degrees.  At 
last  only  one  remained. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

GOLD. 

WE  will  now  describe  all  that  had  oc- 
curred  behind  those  curtains. 

In  the  first  place,  Beausire  was  sur- 
prised at  hearing  the  door  double  lock- 
ed. 

Then  he  was  surprised  at  hearing 
Mademoiselle  Oliva  call  out  so  loudly. 

And  at  last  more  surprised  still  on 
entering  the  bed-room  to  find  that  his 
savage  rival  was  no  longer  there.  • 

He  searched,  threatened,  called  out 
loudly  because  he  thought  the  man  had 
concealed  himself,  and  if  so,  it  was  be- 
cause he  was  afraid ;  and  if  afraid 
Beausire  triumphed. 

Oliva  obliged  him  to  discontinue  his 
perquisitions,  and  to  reply  to  her  ques- 
tions. 

Beausire  feeling  himself  somewhat 
harshly  used,  in  his  turn  assumed  a  high 
tone. 

Oliva,  who  knew  that  she  was  no 
longer  culpable,  as  the  substance  of  the 
offence  had  disappeared,  Quia  corpus 
delicti  aberat,  as  the  text  says ;  Oliva 
called  out  &o  loudly,  that  to  silence  her 
Beausire  applied  his  hand  to  her  mouth, 
or  rather,  wished  so  to  apply  it. 

But  he  was  mistaken  ;**  Oliva  under- 
stood this  perfectly  persuasive  and  con 
ciliutory  gesture  in  quite  a  different 
light  to  that  intended  by  Beausire.  On 
seeing  that  rapid  hand  directed  towards 
her  face,  she  opposed  a  hand  as  skillful 
and  as  agile  as  erewhile  had  been  the 
sword  of  the  unknown. 

Thiit  hand  parried  carte  and  tierce, 
tin-list  forward,  and  gave  Beausire  a 
riujiiiii;  box  on  the  ear. 

Hfimsirc  replied  by  a  side  thrust, 
and  with  his  right  hand  beat  down  both 
Oliva's  and  reddened  her  left  cheek 
with  a  blow  that  made  a  most  scanda- 
lous noise.  » 

This  A-as  the  passage  in  the  conver- 
sation which  the  unknown  had  over- 
hetml  at  ihe  moment  be  was  about  to 
depart. 

An  explanation  commenced  in  such 
a  manner,  as  we  have  said  before,  soon 
brings  about  a  winding  up  ;  but,  the 
winding  up  of  a  play,  howerer  good  it 
may  be,  always  requires,  in  order  to  be  ! 


perfectly   dramatic,  a  host  of  prepara- 
tives. 

Oliva  responded  to  Beausire's  violent 
blow  by  a  projectile  at  once  heavy  and 
dangerous,  an  earthen-ware  jug ;  Beau- 
sire  replied  to  this  projectile  by  whirl- 
ing a  thick  cane,  with  which  he  broke 
several  cups,  smashed  a  wax-candle 
and  it  ended  its  course  by  alighting  on 
the  shoulder  of  the  young  woman. 

The  latter  becoming  furious,  sprang 
upon  Beausire  and  seized  him  by  the 
throat.  The  unfortunate  wretch  was 
compelled  to  defend  himself  from  this 
dangerous  pressure  and  he  grasped  the 
first  thing  he  could  lay  hold  of. 

He  tore  Oliva's  gown,  who  deeply 
feeling  the  affront  and  the  loss  to  which 
it  subjected  her,  let  go  her  hold  and 
sent  Beausire  rolling  on  the  centre  of 
the  floor.  He  got  up  foaming  with 
rage. 

But  as  the  valor  of  an  enemy  is 
measured  by  the  defence  made,  and  as 
a  good  defence  must  always  be  respect- 
ed, even  by  the  conqueror,  Beausire, 
who  had  conceived  much  respect  for 
Oliva,  again  took  up  the  verbal  conver- 
sation where  it  had  broken  off. 

'  You  are,'  said  he,  '  a  wicked  crea- 
ture, you  ruin  me.' 

'  'Tis  you  who  ruin  me,'  replied 
Oliva. 

'  Oh  !  good,  I  ruin  her,  and  she  has 
nothing.' 

'  Say  rather  that  I  have  no  longer  any 
thing.  Say  that  you  have  sold  and 
eaten,  drank  or  gambled  away  all  I  had.' 

'  And  you  reproach  me  for  my  pover- 
ty?' 

'  And*why  are  you  poor?  It  is  that 
vice — ' 

'  I  will  correct  you  of  all  yours  at  a 
single  blow.' 

'  By  beating  inc.' 

And  Oliva  brandished  a  pair  of  pon- 
derous tongs,  tlu>  -sight  of  which  made 
Beausire  start  back. 

'  All  tha,t  was  wanting  to  your  infa- 
my,' said  he,  '  was  to  have  lovers.' 

'  And  you,  what  do  you  call  those 
miserable  wretches  who  seat  them- 
selves beside  you  in  those  low  gaming 
houses  in  which  you  puss  your  night« 
and  days  ?' 

4 1  play  to  live.' 

1  And  very  prettily  you  succeed  ;  we 
are  almost  starving ;  a  very  charming 
profession,  to  be  sure.' 

'  And  you,  with  yours,  you  are  oblig- 
ed to  cry  when  one  has  torn  your  gown, 
because  you  have  not  the  means  to  buy 
another.  A  fine  profession  truly.' 


MYSTERIES  OF  THE  COURT  OF  LOUIS  XVI. 


109 


•Better  than  yours  at  all  events,'  cried 
Oliva  with  excessive  rage,  '  and  here's 
a  proof  of  it;' 

And  she  snatched  a  handful  of  gold 
from  her  pocket,  which  she  threw 
across  the  room. 

The  louis  began  to  roll  upon  their 
edges  or  trembled  on  their  faces,  some 
of  them  hiding  themselves  under  the 
furniture,  others  continuing  their  so- 
norous evolutions  even  under  the  doors. 
Others  iu  short,  falling  flat  as  it  were 
from  sheer  fatigue,  their  effigies  shin- 
ing as  brilliantly  as  if  they  were  sparks 
of  fire. 

When  Beausire  heard  this  metallic 
rain  jingling  against  the  furniture  and 
on  the  tiled  floor  of  the  room,  he  was 
seized  with  a  vertigo,  or  we  ought  rath- 
er to  say,  remorse. 

'(Louis,  double  louis  !'  exclaimed  he, 
completely  thunder  struck. 

Oliva  took  another  handful  from  her 
pocket.  She  threw  them  in  Beausire's 
face  who  was  for  the  moment  blinded 
by  them. 

'Oh!  oh!'  he  again  exclaimed,  'is 
she  not  rich,  this  dear  Oliva.' 

'  That  is  what  my  proffession  brings 
me  in,'  cynically  replied  the  creature, 
'kicking  the  gold  from  before  her,  and 
at  the  same  time  giving  a  vigorous  kick 
to  Beauiure  who  had  knelt  down  to  pick 
up  the  gold, 

•  Sixteen,  seventeen,  eighteen,'   said 
Beausire,  panting  with  joy. 

•  Wretch  !'   muttered  Oliva. 

,  Nineteen,  twenty,  twenty-one, 
twenty-two.' 

'  Coward  !' 

'  Twenty-three,  twenty -four,*twenty- 
five,' 

•  Villain  !' 

Whether  it  was  that  he  had  heard 
her,  or  that  he  blushed  without  having 
heard  her,  Beansire  rose  up. 

\mi  >o.  Mademoiselle,'  said  he,  in 
so  serious  a  tone  that  nothing  could 
equal  its  comicaluess,  '  you  have  been 
economising  while  you  deprived  me 
even  of  necessaries.' 

Oliva,  who  was  confounded,  could  not 
find  a  word  in  reply. 

•  Thus,'   continued  the   rascal,   '  you 
allow  me  to  go  about  with  stockings  in 
holes,  with  a  hat  that  is  almost  brown, 
with  ragged  clothes,  while  you     have 
been  hoarding  up  louis  in  your  secret 
box.    Where  do  these  louis  come  from? 
why    from  tht?  sale    of    my   furniture 
when  I  associated  my  unhappy  destiny 
to  yours.' 

'  Rascal !'     murmured    Oliva    in     a 


whisper.  And  she  darted  at  him  a  look 
of  the  most  sovereign  contempt.  He  did 
not  seem  at  all  affected  by  it. 

'I  pardon  you,'  said  he,  'not  for  your 
atvarice,  but  for  your  economy.' 

'And  just  now  you  wished  to  kill 
me.' 

4 1  was  right  just  now,  but  now  I 
should  be  wrong.' 

'  And  why  so,  if  you  please.' 

'  Because  now  you  have  proved  your- 
self a  good  house-keeper,  and  you  give 
something  towards  our  house-keeping.' 

'  I  tell  you  that  you  are  a  wretch.' 

'  My  little  Oliva.' 

'  And  that  you  shall  return  that  gold 
to  me.' 

'  Oh  !  my  beloved.' 

'  You  shall  return  it  instantly,  or  I 
will  run  you  through  with  your  own 
Bword.' 

'  Oliva  ." 

•  It  is  either  yes,  or  no. 

'  Then  I  say  no  Oliva,  for  I  can  nev- 
er consent  to  your  running  me  through 
the  body.' 

'  Stir  not  an  inch,  or  I  run  you 
through  at  once.' 

'  Oh  !  give  it  to  me.' 

'  Ah !  coward !  ah  !  vile  craature  ! 
you  beg  for,  yon  solicit  the  price  of  my 
bad  conduct !  Oh  !  and  this  is  what  is 
called  a  man  !  I  have  always  despised 
you  ;  despised  all  of  you,  do  you  under- 
stand me  ?  And  more  the  one  who 
gives  than  he  who  receives.' 

'  He  who  gives,'  gravely  rejoined 
Beausire,  '  may  give  if  he  is  fortunate, 
and  I  also  have  given  to  you  Nicole.' 

'  1  will  not  be  called  Nicole.' 

'  Pardon,  Oliva,  I  was  only  saying 
then  that  I  had  given  when  I  was  able 
to  give.' 

4  Very  fine  bounty,  truly;  a  pair  of  sil- 
ver buckles,  six  louis  in  gold,  two  silk 
dresses,  and  three  embroidered  hand- 
kerchiefs.' 

'  That  is  a  great  deal  for  a  soldier.' 

'  Hold  your  tongue  ;  the  buckles  you 
had  stolen  from  some  one  else  to  offer 
them  to  me :  the  gold  was  lent  to  you, 
and  that  you  never  returned :  the  silk 
dresses — ' 

'Oliva!  Oliva!' 

'  Give  me  back  my  money. 

'  What  will  you  have  in  lieu  of  it.' 

'  Double  the  amount.' 

'  Well  then  !  be  it  so,'  said  the  ras- 
cal with  much  gravity.  '  I  will  go  and 
play  it  at  the  Rue  de  Bussy,  and  I  will 
bring  you  back  not  double,  but  quintu- 
ple the  amount.' 

He  made  two  steps  towards  the  door, 


110 


THE  QUEEN'S  NECKLACE;  OR,  THE 


She  seized  him  by  the  flap  of  his  coat, 
which  was  too  tender. 

4  There  now,'  cried  he,  4you  have 
torn  my  coat.' 

4  So  much  the  better,  you  shall  have 
a  new  one.' 

4  Six  louis !  Oliva  six  louis.  For- 
tunately at  the  Rue  de  Bussy,  the 
bankers  and  the  players  are  not  very 
rigid  with  regard  to  dress.' 

Oliva  very  quickly  seized  hold  of  the 
other  flap  of  his  coat  and  tore  that  off 
also.  Beausire  became  furious. 

4  By  the  death  of  all  the  devils  !'  ex 
claimed  he,  'you  will  get  yourself  kill- 
ed. Has  not  this  vixen  completely  un- 
dressed me.  And  now  I  cannot  even 
go  out  of  the  house.' 

'  On  the  contrary  you  must  go  out 
and  that  immediately.' 

4  That  would  be  very  droll  without  a 
coat.' 

4  You  can  put  on  your  winter  over- 
coat.' 

4  All  in  holes,  and  patches.' 

4  Well  then  you  shall  not  put  it  on  if 
it  does  not  please  you,  but  you  must  go 
out.' 

4 1  will  not.' 

Oliva  took  from  her  pocket  the  gold 
she  had  left,  about  thirty-five  louis,  and 
jingled  them  between  her  hands. 

Beausire  seemed  almost  wild ;  he1 
once  more  knelt  down. 

4  Order,'  cried  he,  4  order,  I  will  do 
whatever  you  please.' 

4  You  will  run  instantly  to  the  Magic 
Capuchin  in  the  rue  de  Seine,  where 
they  sell  dominos  for  the  masked  ball.' 

4  Well  ?' 

'  You  will  buy  me  a  complete  dress, 
mask  and  stockings  to  match.' 

'Good.' 

4  Get  a  black  one  for  yourself,  for  me 
a  white  satin  one.' 

'  Yes.' 

'  And  I  will  allow  you  only  twenty 
minutes  to  do  this.' 

4  We  are  going  to  the  ball  ? 

'  Yes,  to  the  ball.' 

4  And  will  you  give  me  a  supper  on 
the  boulevards  ?' 

4  Oh  !  certainly,  but  upon  one  condi- 
tion.' 

'  And  what  is  that?' 

4  That  you  shall  be  obedient.' 

4  Oh  !  always,  always.' 

'  Come  now.  give  me  a  proof  of  your 
zeal.' 

•I  run.' 

4  What !  are  you  not  gone  yet.' 

'  But  the  money  for  the  dominos  ?' 

'  You  have  twenty-five  loois.' 


4  What  do  you  mean  by  twenty-fife 
louis  ?' 

4  Those  which  you  picked  up.' 

4  Oliva !  Oliva !  this  is  not  right.' 

'  What  do  you  mean  by  that?' 

4  Oh!  Oliva,  you  gave  them  to  me.' 

4 1  do  not  say  that  you  shall  not  have 
them,  but  if  I  were  to  give  them  to  you 
now,  you  would  not  return.  Go,  then, 
and  return  quickly.' 

4  She  is  right,  by  heaven !'  said  the 
scoundrel,  somewhat  confused,  '  it  was 
my  intentiop  not  to  return.' 

4  Twenty-five  minutes,  do  you  hear  ?' 
cried  Oliva  as  he  was  going  out. 
•  4 1  obey.' 

It  was  at  this  moment  that  the  valet, 
who  had  been  placed  in  ambuscade  in 
the  niche  opposite  to  the  window,  ob- 
served that  one  of  the  two  interlocutors 
had  disappeared. 

This  was  M.  Beausire,  who  left  his 
mansion  without  a  skirt  to  his  coat,  his 
sword  insolently  swinging  from  side  to 
side,  while  his  shirt,  bulging  out  be- 
neath his  waistcoat,  gave  him  the  ap- 
pearance of  a  swaggerer  of  the  times  of 
Louis  XJII. 

While  the  worthless  seamp  was  hur- 
rying towards  the  rue  de  Seine,  Oliva 
wrote  the  following  lines  upon  a  piece 
of  paper,  which  summed  up  the  whole 
of  the  episode  : 

4  Peace  is  signed  ;  the  division  is 
made,  the  ball  adopted.  At  two  o'clock 
we  shall  be  at  the  opera.  I  shall  be  in 
a  white  domino,  and  on  the  left  shoul- 
der shall  wear  a  bow  of  blue  ribband.' 

Oliva  wrapped  the  paper  round  one 
of  the  fragments  of  the  broken  jug,  put 
her  head  out  of  the  window,  and  threw 
the  note  into  the  street. 

The  valet  pounced  upon  his  prey — 
picked  it  up,  and  ran  off. 

It  is  pretty  certain  that  M.  Beausire 
was  not  absent  more  thnn  half  an  hour  ; 
he  returned,  followed  by  two  journey- 
men tailors,  who,  for  the  price  of  eigh- 
teen louis,  had  brought  two  dominos  of 
exquisite  taste,  as  were  all  those  which 
were  procured  from  the  sign  of  the 
Magic  Capuchin,  the  most  fashionable 
costujne  warehouse  of  the  day,  and 
from  which  establishment  her  majesty 
the  queen,  and  all  the  ladies  of  honor 
were  supplied. 


V 


MYSTERIES  OF  THE  COURT  OP  LOUIS  XVI. 


Ill 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

THE    PLEASURE    HOUSE. 

WE  left  Madame  de  La  Mothe  at 
the  door  of  Mr.  Mesmer's  hotel,  look- 
ing after  the  queen's  carringe,  which 
was  rapidly  disappearing. 

When  its  form  ceased  to  be  visible — • 
when  the  rumbling  of  its  wheels  ceased 
to  be  distinct,  Jeanne,  in  her  turn,  got 
into  her  hired  carriage,  and  returned 
home  to  take  a  domino  and  another 
mask,  and  also  to  ascertain  whether 
any  thing  new  had  occurred  during  her 
absence. 

,  Madame  de  La  Mothe  had  promised 
herself  on  that  thrice  happy  night  some 
enjoyment,  after  all  the  emotions  of  the 
day;  she  had  resolved,  as  a  strong- 
minded  woman,  which  she  was,  to 
throw  away  all  restraint,  and  adventure 
alone  to  the  opera,  there  to  revel  in  all 
the  delights  of  a  complete  incognito. 

But  a  disappointment  awaited  her  at 
the  first  step  she  was  about  to  take-  in 
the  path  she  had  chalked  out,  and 
which  was  so  seductive  to  the  lively 
imagination  of  one  who  had  so  long  suf- 
fered from  restraint. 

The  fact  was,  that  a  grison  was  wait- 
ing for  her  in  the  porter's  room. 

This  grison  was  in  the  service  of  the 
Prince  de  Rohan,   and  was  the  bearer 
of  a  note  from  his  eminence,  couched  in 
the  following  terms : 
4  Madame  la  Comtesse  : 

'You  have,  doubtless,  not  forgotten 
that  we  have  some  affairs  to  regulate 
together.  Perhaps  you  have  a  short 
memory;  for  my  part,  I  never  forget 
that  which  has  pleased  me. 

'  I  have  the  honor  to  be  waiting  for 
you  at  the  place  to  which  the  bearer, 
if  you  will  permit  him,  will  conduct 
you.' 

This  letter  was  signed  with  a  pastoral 
cross. 

Madame  de  La  Mothe,  who  at  first 
felt  somewhat  annoyed  at  this  disap- 
pointment, reflected  for  a  moment,  and 
then  made  up  her  mind  with  that  ra- 
pidity of  decision  which  so  particularly 
characterized  her. 

'  Get  upon  the  box  with  my  coach- 
man,' said  she  to  the  grison,  '  or  give 
him  the  address.' 

The  grison  after  assisting  Madame 
de  La  Mothe  into  the  carriage  seated 
himself  beside  the  coachman. 

Ten  minutes  sufficed  .to  take  the 
Countess  to  tho  entrance  of  the  Fau- 
bourg Saint  Antoine,  into  a  hollow 


which  had  been  but  lately  levelled,  and 
where  the  towering  trees,  old  as  the 
faubourg  itself,  concealed  from  all  eyes 
one  of  those  pretty  houses  built  in  the 
reign  of  Louis  XV,  the  exterior  being 
of  the  architecture  of  the  sixteenth  cen- 
tury and  the  interior  possessing  the  in- 
comparable comfort  of  the  eighteenth. 

'  Ho !  ho  !  a  pleasure  house,'  mur- 
mured the  Countess ;  '  that  is  very 
natural  as  regards  a  great  Prince  ;  it  is 
however  very  humiliating  for  a  Valoia, 
but  patience !' 

This  word  which  resignation  converts 
into  a  sigh,  or  impatience  into  an  ex- 
clamation, revealed  all  the  devouring 
ambition  of  the  woman,  or  the  grasping 
cupidity  smouldering  in  her  mind. 

But  she  had  hardly  crossed  the 
threshold  of  the  mansion  when  she  re- 
solved at  once  upon  her  line  of  con- 
duct. 

She  was  led  from  room  to  room,  that 
is  to  say,  from  surprise  to  surprise 
until  she  reached  a  small  dining-room 
fitted  up  with  extraordinary  taste. 

She  there  found  the  Cardinal  await- 
ing her  arrival. 

His  Eminence  was  turning  over  some 
pamphlets  which  had  much  the  appear- 
ance of  a  collection  of  those  ephemeral 
productions  which  fell  in  torrents  upon 
Paris  whenever  the  wind  set  in  from 
the  coasts  of  England,  or  from  Hol- 
land. 

On  seeing  her  he  rose. 

'  Oh !  you  are  here.  Thanks,  Coun- 
tess,'said  he,  and  he  approached  to  kiss 
her  hand. 

The  Countess  drew  back  with  a  dis- 
dainful and  wounded  air. 

'  What:  can  this  mean  !'  cried  th« 
Cardinal,  •  and  what  is  it  offends  yout 
madam  ?' 

'  You  are  not  accustomed  to  receiv- 
ing such  serious  looks  from  the  women 
to  whom  your  Eminence  does  the  hon- 
or of  inviting  to  this  house ;  is  it  not  so, 
Monseigneur  ?' 

'  Oh !  Madame  la  Comtesse  !' 

'  We  are  in  your  pleasure-house,  are 
we  not,  Monseigneur  ?'  said  the  Coun- 
tess throwing  a  disdainful  glance  around 
her.' 

4  But,  madam ' 

'  I  had  hoped,  Monseigneur,  that 
your  Emiuence  would  have  deigned  to 
remember  the  rank  to  which  I  was 
born.  I  had  hoped  that  your  Emi- 
nence would  have  deigned  to  recollect 
that  if  God  has  made,  me  poor,  he  has 
left  me  at  least  my  pride  of  birth.' 

'  Come,  come,  Countess,  I  had  taken 


112 


THE  QUEEN'S  NECKLACE ;    OR,  THE 


you  for  a  woman  of  superior  judgment,' 
•did  the  Cardinal. 

'  It  appears  that  you  consider  as  a 
woman  of  judgement,  she  who  laughs 
at  everything,  even  were  it  her  own  dis- 
honor ;  to  such  women,  and  I  beg  your 
Eminence  will  pardon  me  for  so  doing, 
I  give  quite  a  different  name.' 

;  No,  Countess,  you  are  mistaken  ;  I 
call  that  woman  a  woman  of  judgement 
who  listens  when  she  is  spoken  to,  and 
does  not  speak  until  she  has-  listened.' 

4  I  am  listening,  go  on.' 

'  I  had  to  speak  to  you  of  serious  mat- 
ters.' 

'  And  for  that  purpose  you  have 
brought  me  into  a  dining-room  ?' 

'  Why,  yes ;  would  it  have  pleased 
you  better,  had  I  received  you  in  a 
boudoir,  Countess  ?' 

'The  distinction  is  a  delicate  one.' 

'  I  think  it  so,  Countess.' 

•  Therefore,  the  question  at  issue  is, 
that  I  should  sup  with  your  Eminence  ?' 

4  Nothing  more.' 

'  I  hope  your  Eminence  will  be  per- 
•uaded  that  I  appreciate  this  honor  as  I 
ought.' 

4  You  are  ironical,  Countess.' 

4  No,  I  only  laugh.' 

'  You  laugh  ?' 

•Yes.  Would  it  better  suit  you  if  I 
were  angry  ?  Oh  !  on  my  word  you 
are  difficult  to  please,  Monseigneur.' 

'  Oh  !  you  are  charming  when  you 
laugh,  and  I  ask  nothing  better  than  to 
see  you  always  laughing.  But  you  are 
not  laughing  at  this  moment :  tbere  is 
anger  behind  those  lovely  lips  and 'they 
show  their  teeth.' 

'  Not  in  the  slightest  degree,  Mon- 
seigneur,  and  this  dining-room  tran- 
quillises  me  completely.' 

4  That's  as  it  should  be.' 

'And  I  hope  you  will  sup  heartily.' 

'  What  mean  you  by  hoping  I  shall 
sup  well,  and  you  ?' 

4  As  to  myself  I  am  not  hungry,'  said 
the  Countess. 

1  How,  madam,  do  you  refuse  to  give 
me  H  supper  ?' 

1  What  did  you  say  ?' 

4  You  turn  me  out !' 

4 1  do  not  understand  you,  Monseig- 
neur.' 

4  Listen  to  me,  dear  Countess.' 

'  I  am  listening.' 

4  If  you  were  less  angry,  I  would  tell 
you  that  do  as  you  will  you  cannot  be 
otherwise  than  charming,  but  as  upon 
every  compliment  I  pay  you,  I  am  in 
terror  of  being  dismissed,  I  abstain.' 

4  You  fear  to  be  dismissed  !    In  truth 


Monseigneur,  and  I  beg  your  Emi- 
nence's pardon  for  so  saying,  you  are 
becoming  altogether  unintelligible.' 

4  And  yet  all  this  is  perfectly  pellu- 
cid.' 

'  You  must  excuse  my  being  dazzled 
by  it  then.' 

•  I  will  explain  then.     The  other  day 
you  received  me  with  much  embarrass- 
ment, you  thought  that  your  apartment 
was  little    suited    to  a   person  of  your 
rank    and  name.     That   compelled  me 
to  shorten  my  visit ;  and  moreover  that 
also  made  yon  rather  cold  towards  me. 
I   then  thought  that   to    place   you   in 
your  due  position,    a   condition  of  life 
worthy  your  high  birth,  was   to  restore 
air  to   the  bird,    which   a  chemist  has 
placed  beneath  a  pneumatic  glass.' 

4  And  then  ?'  anxiously  demanded 
the  Countess,  for  she  began  to  compre- 
hend his  drift. 

'  Then,  lovely  Countess,  in  order  that 
you  might  be  able  to  receive  me  cor- 
dially, and  that  I  on  my  side  might 
visit  you  without  compromising  myself 
or  compromising  you ' 

The  Cardinal  fixed  his  eyes  upon  th« 
Countess. 

'Well?' 

4  Well,  then  I  had  hoped  that  you 
would  deign  to  accept  this  small  house--' 

4 1!  accept  this  house? — you  give 
this  house  to  me  Monsigneur?'  cried 
the  Countess,  whose  heart  beat  at  once 
with  pride  and  eagerness. 

;  It  is  a  trifle,  Countess,  a  mere  tri- 
fle :  but  had  I  given  you  more  yon 
would  not  have  accepted  it.' 

'  Oh  !  neither  more  nor  less,'  said 
the  Countess.' 

You  say,  madam  ? ' 

•  I  say  it  is   impossible  that  I  can  ac- 
cept such  a  gift.' 

4  Impossible  !  and  why  ?' 

'  Why,  simply  because  it  is  imposti- 
ble.' 

1  Oh  !  do  not  pronounce  that  word  in 
my  hearing  Countess.' 

'  And  for  what  reason  ?' 

'  Because  I  will  not  believe  it  while 
I  am  near  you.' 

•  Monseigneur  ! ' 

1  This  house  is  yours,  madam — the 
keys  are  there  upon  that  golden  salver. 
You  see  I  treat  you  as  a  conqueror.  Do 
you  perceive  any  humiliation  in  that  ?' 

'No;  but' 

'Come,  now,  accept  at  once.' 

'Monseigneur,  I  have  already  said  I 
could  not.' 

'  How,  madam  !  You  write  to>  a 
minister  to  solicit  a  pension;  you  ae- 


MYSTERIES  OF  THE  COURT  OF  LOUIS  XVI. 


113 


eept  a  hundred  louiu  from  two  unknown 
kdies.' 

'  Oh!  monseigneur,  the  case  is  very 
different,  who  receives' 

'  Who  receives,  obliges,'  said  the 
Prince,  nobly.  '  Look,  now,  I  waited 
for  you  in  your  dining-room ;  I  have 
not  even  seen  either  the  boudoir,  the 
drawing-room,  or  the  bed-chamber,  but 
I  imagine  that  all  this  exists.' 

'  Oh  !  Monseigneur,  pardon  me  ;  for 
you  compel  me  to  acknowledge  that 
there  exists  not  another  man  as  delicate 
as  yourself.' 

And  the  -Countess,  who  had  so  lung 
restniined  her  feelings,  blushed  witli 
delight  on  reflecting  that  she  would  now 
be  able  to  say,  '  my  house  !' 

Then  suddenly  perceiving,  from  a 
gesture  made  by  the  Prince,  that  she 
allowed  her  feelings  to  cany  her  too  far. 

1  Monseigueur,'  said  she,  drawing 
back  one  step,  'I  request  youi  emin- 
ence will  allow  me  to  sup  with  you." 

The  Cardinal  took  off  his  cloak, 
which  he  had  not  before  removed,  plac- 
ed a  chair  for  the  Countess,  and  being 
dressed  in  a  plain  suit,  which  became 
him  wonderfully,  he  began  to  enter  on 
his  duties  of  major-domo. 

The  supper  was  soon  served. 

While  the  servants  were  coming 
through  the  ante-chamber,  Jeanne  had 
put  on  a  half  mask. 

'  It  is  I  who  ought  to  put  on  a  mask,' 
raid  the  Prince,  '  for  you  are  here  in 
your  own  house,  waited  on  by  your 
own  servants,  and  it  is  I  who  am  the 
stranger.' 

Jeanne  laughed,  but  nevertheless  re- 
tained her  mask.  And  notwithstanding 
the  pleasure  and  surprise  which  almost 
suffocated  her,  she  did  honor  to  the  re- 
pust. 

The  Cardinal,  as  we  have  said  be- 
fore ou  several  occasions,  was  a  man  of 
noble  heart  and  really  great  mind. 

Long  habituated  to  the  most  civilized 
courts  of  Europe,   courts  governed  by 
queens  ;  having  long  frequented  the  so- 
ciety of  women,  who  in   that  age  com- 
plicated but  often   decided  all  political 
questions ;    the   experience  which  had 
been  transmitted,  as  we  may  say,  in  his 
very    blood,    and   which   he   had   aug- 
<t    by   personal   study ;  all   those 
qualities,  so   rare   in    our    times,    and 
which  were  already  rare  in  those  days,  . 
•combined   to   make  the  Prince    a  man  ' 
who   could'  with  difficulty  be   circum-  ' 
Tented  by  his  rival  diplomatists,  or  by  | 
the  women  who  were  his  mistresses,  i 

One  great  reason   for  this  was,  thai 


his  elegant  manners  and  his  dignified 
courtesy  formed   a  shield  which  it  was 
;  difficult  to  penetrate. 

The  Cardinal,  therefore,  thought  him- 
self very  superior  to  Jeanne,  a  country 
i  girl,  as  he  imagined  her,  puffed  up  with 
pretension,  and  who  beneath  her  false 
pride  had  not  been  able  to  conceal  from 
him  her  avidity ;  she  appeared  to  him  an 
easy  conquest,  a  durable  one,  doubtless, 
on  account  of  her  beauty,  her  wit,  and 
that  provoking,  indefinable  charm  which 
more  readily  seduces  men  already  half 
satiated  with  the  pleasures  of  the  world, 
than  young  and  more  inexperienced 
men. 

Perhaps  on  this  occasion,  more  diffi- 
cult to  penetrate  than  he  was  himself 
penetrating,  the  Cardinal  deceived  him- 
self; but  the  fact  is  that  Jeanne,  beau- 
tiful as  she  was,  caused  him  no  mis- 
trust. 

This  was  the  ruin  of  that  eminently 
superior  man.  HO  not  only  made  him- 
self less  than  he  really  was,  but  reduced 
himself  to  a  pigmy.  Between  Maria 
Theresa  and  Jeanne  de  La  Mothe,  the 
difference  was  too  wide  for  a  Rohnn  of 
i  his  stamp,  to  take  even  the  pains  to 
compare. 

And  therefore  when  qpce  the  attack 
had  begun,  Jeanne,  who  felt  her  appa- 
rent inferiority,  took  good  care  not  to 
allow  her  real  superiority  to  be  per- 
ceived ;  she  continued  to  play  the  part 
of  a  country  coquette  ;  appeared  to  at- 
tach herself  to  trifles,  that  she  might 
induce  her  adversary  to  remain  still 
confident  in  his  own  strength,  and  con- 
sequently feeble  in  his  attacks. 

The  Cardinal,  who  had  well  noted  all 
those  emotions  which  shp  had  been  un- 
able to  suppress,  thought  her  overjoyed 
at  the  present  he  had  just  made  her. 
She  was  so  in  fact,  for  the  present  was 
not  only  far  beyond  her  hopes,  but  also 
beyond  even  her  pretensions. 

He,  however,  forgot  that  it  was  he 
himself  who  was  beneath  the  ambition 
and  the  pride  of  such  a  woman  as 
Jeanne. 

That  which,  moreover,  dispelled  the 
exultation  caused5 by  this  present,  was 
the  succession  of  new  desires  which 
crowded  out  her  former  ones. 

« Come,'  said  the  Cardinal,  pouring 
out  some  Cyprus  wine  into  a  small 
ciystal  cup  starred  with  gold  ;  '  Come, 
as  you  have  now  signed  your  contract 
with  me,  be  not  any  longer  out  of  hu- 
mor with  me,  Countess.' 

•  Out  of  humor  with  you,  6h  !  no.* 

•You   will,    then,    receive- me  here 


114 


THE  QUEEN'S  NECKLACE;  OR,  THE 


sometimes,  without   too   much   repug 
nance?' 

'  I  shall  never  be  so  ungrateful  as  t 
forget  that  you  nre  here  in  your  own 
house,  monseigneur.' 

•  In  my  own  house,  what  folly  !' 
'  No,  no,  in  your  own  house.' 

'  Ah !    if  you    contradict    me,    fak 
care.' 

'And  what  would  happen  then  ?' 

•  I    shall   impose   some   other  condi- 
tions on  you.' 

'  Ah !  in  your  turn,  take  care.' 

•Of  what?' 

4  Of  every  thing.' 

'  Say  on.' 

'  As  I  aui  in  my  own  house — ' 

t  And—' 

'  And,  should  I  find  your  conditions 
unreasonable,  I  shall  call  my  servants.' 

The  Cardinal  laughed. 

'There,  you  see,'  she  said. 

'I  do  not  see  any  thing,'  replied  the 
Cardinal.  4 

'  Oh  !  yes,  you  see  that  you  are  mak- 
ing game  of  me.' 

'  And  how  so  ?' 

'  You  laugh — ' 

'  And  in  right  time,  it  appears  to  me.' 

'  Oh  !  yes,  undoubtedly  it  is  the  right 
time,  for  you^vell  know  that  were  I  to 
call  my  servants,  they  would  not  come.' 

'  Oh !  yes  they  would,  or  may  the  de- 
Til  fly  away  with  me.' 

'  Oh  !  fie,  monseigneur.' 

'  Why,  what  have  I  done  ?' 

4  You  swore,  monseigneur.' 

4 1   am    no   longer   a  Cardinal   when 
here.     I  am  at  your  house,  and  for  the 
purpose  of  enjoying  myself.' 
And  he  laughed  again. 
'Come,   come,'   said  the  Countess  to 
herself,  '  he  is  decidedly  an  excellent 
man.' 

'  By-the-by,'  said  the  Cardinal,  as  if  a 
sudden  thought  had  struck  him,  '  what 
were  you  telling  me  the  other  day  of 
those  two  Sisters  of  Charily,  those  two 
German  ladies  ?' 

4  Of  those  two  Indies  who  left  the 
portrait  ?'  asked  Jeanne,  who  having 
Seen  ihe  queen,  was  ready  to  parry  any 
.blow,  and  make  a  thrust  in  return. 

Yes,  those  ladies  of  the  portrait.' 


you 


say 


4  M6nseigneur,'  said  Madame  de  La 
Mothe  looking  intently  at  the  Cardinal, 
1  I  would  wager  that  you  know  them  as 
well  and  even  better  than  I  do.' 

•  Who,  I  ?  Oh  !  Countess,  Countess, 
indeed  you  wrong  me.  Did  you  not 
appear  desirous  of  knowing  who  they 
were  ?' 

4  Undoubtedly  ;  and   it  is   natural,    it 


appears  to  me,    to  desire  to  know  one's 
benefactors.' 

'  Well,  then,  had  I  known  who  th*y 
were,  you  would  already  have  been  in- 
formed of  it.' 

*  '  Monsieur   the   Cardinal,    I  tell 
that  you  know  those  ladies.' 

4  No.' 

'  If  you  utter   no  again,  I   shall 
you  speak  falsely.' 

'  And  I  shall  take  revenge  for  the  in- 
sult.' 

4  And  how,  if  you  please  ?' 

'By  giving  you  a  kiss.' 

4  It  appears  singular  that  the  Ambas- 
sador to  the  Court  of  Vienna,  the  great 
friend  of  the  Empress  Maria  Theresa, 
should  not  at  once  have  recognised,  un- 
less it  be  very  unlike  indeed,  the  portrait 
of  his  friend. 

Why  Countess  was  it  really  the 
portrait  of  the  Empress  ?' 

'  Oh !  play  the  ignorant  if  you  can, 
M.  Diplomatist.' 

'  Well,  supposing  even  that  it  should 
)e  so,  had  I  recognised  it  as  the  por- 
rait  of  Maria  Theresa,  to  what  conclu- 
sion would  that  have  brought  us  T  ' 

'  That  having  recognised  the  portrait 
of  Maria  TheYesa  you  must  have  some 
suspicion  as  to  the  person  to  whom 
such  a  portrait  could  belong.' 

But  why  should  you  insist  on  my 
knowing  that  ?'  inquired  the  Cardinal 
with  some  anxiety. 

For  this  reason  ;  that  it  is  not  usual 

0  see    the    portrait  of  a   Mother, —  for 

will    please  to   observe  that   this  is 

1  portrait  of  a  mother   and    not   of  an 
impress,1 — in  other   hands   than   those 
)fa ' 

Conclude.' 

Than  in  the  hands  of  a  daughter — ' 
The  Queen  !'    exclaimed   Louis  de 
iohan  in  so  ingenuous   a  tone    that  it 
eceived  Jeanne.    4  The  Queen  ?     Her 
Majesty  can  have  been  at  your  house ." 
4  What !  had  you  not  guessed  it  was 
the  queen?' 

4  Good  Heaven  !  no,'  replied  the  Car- 
dinal in  a  perfectly  natural  tone;  'no; 
it  is  a  custom  in  Hungary  that  portraits 
of  the  reigning  Princes  pass  from  fami- 
ly to  family.  And  thus  I  who  am  now 
speaking  to  you,  for  instance,  and  who 
am  not  either  sou  or  daughter  to  Maria 
Theresa,  or  even  a  relation, — well !  I 
have  her  portrait  now  about  me.' 
'  About  you  ?' 

*  Yes;  look  at   this,'    said  the  Cardi- 
dal  coolly,  and    he  took  from  his  pocket 
a  small  box  which  he  showed  to  the  as- 
tonished Jeanne.    '  You  therefore  see,' 


MYSTERIES  OF  THE  COURT  OF  LOUIS  XVI. 


115 


added  he,  '  that  if  I  have  this  portrait, 
I  who  hnve  not  the  honor  of  belonging 
to  the  imperial  family,  any  one  else 
might  have  left  this  portrait  atyour  house 
without  being,  merely  from  that  cir- 
cumstance, one  of  the  august  house  of 
Austria.' 

Jeanne  said  not  a  word,  she  had  all 
the  ins  jnct  necessary  to  form  a  good 
diplomatist,  but  she  was  as  yet  deficient 
iu  practice. 

'  Thus,  in  your  opinion,'  continued 
Prince  Louis,  'it  was  the  queen,  Murie 
Antoinette  who  paid  yon  the  visit?' 

4  The  queen  with  another  lady. 

'  Madame  de  Polignac  ?' 

'  I  do  not  know.' 

'Madame  de  Lamballe  ?' 

4  A  young  lady,  very  handsome,  and 
very  serious.' 

'  Mademoiselle  de  Taverney,  per- 
haps ?' 

'  It  is  possible  ;  I  do  not  know  her.' 

4  Then,  if  her  Majesty  did  really  pay 
you  a  visit,  you  are  now  certain  of  the 
protection  of  the  queen.  It  is  a  great 
step  towards  your  fortune.' 

'  1  believe  it,  Monseigneur.' 

'  Was  her  Majesty,  pardon  me  for 
asking  the  question,  generous  towards 
you?' 

'  Why,  she  gave  me  a  hundred  louis, 
I  believe.' 

'  Oh  !  her  Majesty  is  not  rich,  and 
particularly  at  this  moment.' 

'And  it  is  that  which  redoubles  my 
gratitude.' 

>'  And  did  she  evince  towards  you  any 
particular  interest?' 

'  A  sufficiently  lively  one.' 

'Then  all  goes  well,'  said  the  Cardi- 
nal pensively,  and  forgetting  the  pro- 
tegee to  think  of  the  protectress,  '  there 
is  one  thing,  however,  which  still  re- 
mains for  you  to  do-' 

'And  what  is  tha!  ?' 

'To  jjct  into  the  palace  at  Versailles.' 

The  Countess  smiled. 

'  Ah !  do  not.  let  us  deceive  ourselves, 
Countess;  there  liestho  real  difficulty.' 

The  Countess  smiled  a  second  time, 
but  in  a  more  significant  manner  than  the 
first. 

The  Cardinal  smiled  in  his  turn. 

'  In  good  truth,'  said  he,  '  you  country 
people  never  seem  to  doubt  any  thing. 
Because  you  have  seen  Versailles  with 
gates  that  open,  and  star -cases  that 
people  ascend,  you  think  that  every  one 
can  have  those  gates  thrown  wide  to 
them,  and  go  up  those  stair-cases.  Have 
you  seen  all  the  monsters  in  brass,  mar- 
ble or  lead,  which  ornaaient  the  parks 


and  the  terraces   of  Versailles,  Coun- 
tess ?' 

'  I  have,  Mopseigneur.' 
'  Hypo -griffins,  chimeras,  gor- 
gons,  goules,  and  other  destructive 
beasts  :  there  are  hundreds  of  them. 
Well,  then*  there  are  ten  times  a  great- 
er number  of  wicked  living  animals, 
standing  between  princes  and  their  be- 
nevolence, than  you  have  seen  of  sculp- 
tured monsters,  between  the  flowers  in 
the  garden  and  the  passers-by.' 

'  Your  eminence  would  aid  me  in 
passing  through  the  ranks  of  all  these 
monsters,  should  they  close  the  passage 
to  me.' 

'  I  would  attempt  it,  but  1  should 
have  great  difficulty.  And,  first  of  nil, 
should  you  pronounce  my  name,  should 
you  expose  your  talisman,  after  two 
visits  it  would  be  useless  to  you.' 

4  Happily,'  said  the  Countess,  '  I  am 
guarded  on  that  side  by  the  immediate 
protection  of  the  queen.  And  if  I  get 
into  Versailles,  I  shall  enter  it  with  the 
right  key.' 

4  What  key,  Countess  ?' 

4  Ah  !  Cardinal,  that  is  my  secret 
No,  I  am  mistaken ;  were  it  my  own 
secret  I  would  tell  it  you,  for  I  will 
conceal  nothing  from  my  amiable  pro- 
tector.' 

4  There  is  a  but,  Countess.' 

'  Alas  !  yes,  Monseigneur,  but,  as  it 
is  not  my  own  secret,  I  shall  keep  it. 
Let  it  suffice  you  to  know — ' 

'  What,  then  ?' 

'  That  to-morrow  I  shall  go  to  Ver- 
sailles, and  I  shall  be  received,  and  I 
have  reason  to  hope,  well  received, 
Monseigneur.' 

The  Cardinal  looked  at  Madame  de 
La  Mothe,  whose  assurance  appeared 
to  him  to  be  the  rather  direct  conse- 
quence of  the  first  vapors  of  the  supper. 

4  Countess,'  said  he,  laughing,  '  we 
shall  see  whether  you  will  succeed  in 
in  getting  in.' 

'  You  will  carry  your  curiosity  so  far 
as  to  have  me  followed  ?' 

'  Precisely.' 

4 1  do  not  retract.' 

4  From  to-morrow,  beware  of  what 
you  do,  I  declare  that  your  honor  is  in- 
terested in  getting  into  Versailles.' 

'  And  into  the  small  apartments,  Mon- 
seigueur.' 

'  I  can  assure  you  Countess  that  in 
my  eyes  YOU  are  a  living  enigma.' 

'One  of  those  little  monsters  who  in- 
habit the  park  of  Versailles?' 

'  Oh  !  you  believe  me  to  be  a  man  of 
tasto,  do  you  not  ?' 


116 


THE  QTJEEN'S  NECKLACE;  OR,  THE 


'Yes,  eertes,  Monseigtreur.' 

•  Well  then,  as  you  see   me,  here  on 
my  knee  before  you,  as  I  take  and  kiss 
your  hand,   you  can    no  longer   believe 
that  I   place  my   lips  upon  a  monster's 
claw,  or   my  hand  upon   the   tail   of  a 
scaled  fish.' 

'  I  beg  you  to  remember,  Monseig- 
neur,'  said  Jeanne  coldly,  '  that  I  am 
neither  a  grisette  nor  ap  opera  dancer. 
That  is  to  say,  that  I  am  my  own  prop- 
erty when  I  belong  not  to  my  husband, 
and  that  feeling  myself  the  equal  of  ev- 
ery man  in  this  kingdom,  I  shall  select 
freely  and  spontaneously  the  day  on 
which  I  may  choose  the  man  who  has 
known  how  to  please  me.  Therefore, 
Monseigneur,  respect  me  a  little  and 
you  will  thus  respect  that  nobility  to 
which  we  both  belong.' 

The  Cardinal  raised  himself  from 
his  knee. 

4  Tis  well,'  said  he,  '  I  see  you  wish 
that  I  should  love  you  seriously.' 

'  I  do  not  say  that.  Cardinal,  but  I 
wish  to  love  you.  Believe  me,  when 
that  moment  shall  arrive,  should  it  ar- 
rive at  all,  you  will  very  readily  divine 
it.  I  will  let  you  know  it,  in  the  event 
of  j'OTir  not  perceiving  it,  for  I  feel  my- 
self young  enough,  and  sufficiently  pass-' 
able  not  to  dread  making  advances  to 
you.  A  well  bred  man  would  not  re- 
pel them.' 

'Countess,'  replied  the  Cardinal,  'I 
can  assure  you  that  if  it  depends  only  on 
myself,  you  will  love  me.' 

'  We  shall  see.' 

4  You  already  entertain  some  friend- 
ly feelings  towards  me ;  do  you  not, 
Countess  ?' 

•More  than  that.' 

« Really ;  then  we  have  nlreadyreach- 
ed  half  way.' 

4  Do  not  let  us  measure  the  road  but 
walk  straight  forwards.' 

4  Countess  you  are  a  woman  whom  I 
should  adore.* 

And  he  sighed. 

4  Whom  you  would  adore — ?'  said  she 
with  surprise,  '  if ' 

'  If  you  would  permit  it,'  the  Cardin- 
al hastened  to  reply. 

•  Monsdigneur,  I  shall  permit  it,  per- 
haps, when   fortune  shall   have  smiled 
long   enough  upon    me,  to  induce   you 
to  dispense   with  falling   so  quickly   at 
my  feet,  and  kissing   my  hand,  so  ^pre- 
maturely.' 

4  How  ?' 

4  Yes,  when  I  shall  be  placed  in  a  po- 
sition not  to  require  your  benevolence, 
you  will  no  longer  suspect  that  I  seek 


your  visits  from  any  sordid  motives. 
Then  your  views  with  regard  to  me 
will  become  ennobled,  I  shall  gain  by 
this,  and  you  will  not  lose  by  it.' 

She  agnin  got  up  for  she  had  seated 
herself,  tlio  better  to  pronounce  her 
moral  dircourse. 

•  Then,'  snid  the  Cardinal,  '  you  sur- 
round me  with  impossibilities^ 

'  And  how  so  ?' 

'  You  prevent  me  from  paying  my 
court  to  ypu.' 

'  Not  in  the  least,  is'there  no  other 
mode  of  paying  court  to  a  woman  than 
by  genuflexion  and  prestidigitation?' 

'  Let  us  understand  at  once,  Countess, 
what  you  will  permit?' 

'  Every  thing  that  is  compatible  with 
my  taste  and  my  duties.' 

'  Oh  !  oh  !  you  there  assume  the  tvro 
moat  vague  grounds  that  exist  in  the 
whole  world.' 

'  You  were  wrong  to  interrupt  me, 
Monseigneur,  I  was  about  to  add  a 
third.' 

'  And  what  is  that,  good  Heaven!' 

'That  of  my  caprice.' 

'  I  am  lost.' 

'  You  draw  back  ?' 

The  Cardinal  was  less  subjected  at 
that  moment  to  the  direction  of  his  own 
inward  thoughts  than  to  the  charm  of 
that  provoking  enchantress. 

'  No,'  said  he,  '  I  will  not  draw  back.' 

'  Not  even  before  my  duties.' 

'  Nor  before  your  tastes  and  your  ca- 
prices.' 

'In  proof  of  this  ?' 

'  Speak—' 

4 1  wish  to  go  to-night  to  the  opera 
ball.' 

'That  is  your  own  affair,  Countess ; 
you  are  free  as  air,  and  I  see  not  what 
there  is  is  to  prevent  your  going  to  the 
ball  at  the  opera  house  ?' 

'  One  moment ;  you  see'only  one  half 
my  desire.  The  other  is  'that  you  also 
should  go  to  the  opera.' 

'  What  I,  to  the  opera — !  oh  !  Coun- 
tess— ' 

And  the  Cardinal  started  back  to  such 
a  distance  that  although  it  would  have 
been  very  natural  in  an  ordinary  indi- 
vidual, it  was  a  prodigious  leap  ..for  a 
man  of  his  high  rank.' 

'  And  this  is  the  way  in  whicTi  you 
seek  to  please  me,'  said  the  Countess. 

'  A  Cardinal  cannot  go  to  a  ball  at  the 
opera.  Countess!  it  would  be  the  same 
as  asking  you  to  go  into  a  pot-house.' 

'  A  Cardinal  does  not  dance  either* 
does  he — ' 

4  Oh  !— no— ' 


MYSTERIES  OF  THE  COURT  OF  LOUIS  XVI. 


117 


4  Well,  then,  how  did  it  happen  that, 
as  I  have  read,  the  Cardinal  de  Riche- 
lieu danced  a  sarabande  ?' 

1  Before  Anne  of  Austria — yea,'  said 
the  prince,  forgetting  himself. 

'  It  was  before  a  queen,  that's  true,' 
said  Jeanne,  fixing  her  eyes  upon  him. 

'  Weil,  then,  perhaps  you  would  do 
that  also  for  a  queen ' 

The  prince  could  not  prevent  him- 
self from  blushing,  however  skilful  and 
upon  his  guard. 

Whether  it  was  that  the  cunning 
creature  felt  compassion  for  his  confu- 
sion, or  whether  she  deemed  it  inexpe- 
dient to  prolong  his  embarrassment,  she 
hastened  to  add  : 

4  How  is  it  possible  that  I  can  feel 
otherwise  than  .hurt,  to  find  that  you 
who  have  made  so  many  professions, 
should  esteem  me  less  than  a  queen, 
when  it  is  a  mere  question  of  conceal- 
ing yourself  under  a  domino  and  a  mask 
— when  by  so  doing  you  would  Sdvance 
in  my  esteem,  (and  with  a  complais- 
ance for  which  I  could  never  be  too 
grateful,)  by  one  of  those  giant  steps 
that  would  reduce  the  road  we  just  now 
spoke  of  in  an  immeasurable  degree.' 

The  Cardinal,  happy  at  being  let  off 
so  cheaply — happy,  above  ah1,  at  that 
perpetual  victory  which  Jeanne  allow- 
ed him  to  gain  by  each  wild  freak  of 
hers,  seized  the  hand  of  the  Countess 
and  pressed  it  tenderly. 

'  For  you,'  said  he,  '  everything,  even 
the  impossible.' 

'  Thanks,  monseigueur  ;  the  man 
who  has  just  consented  to  this  sacrifice 
for  me,  is  in  my  eyes  a  most  valuable 
friend.  ^But  now  that  you  have  accept- 
ed the  task,  I  will  dispense  with  its 
performance.' 

1  By  no  means,  by  no  means !  the 
man  can  only  claim  the  reward  when 
he  has  accomplished  his  task.  I  will 
follow  you,  Countess,  and  in  domino.' 

•  We  will  go  into  the  Rue  Saint  De- 
nis, which  is  not  far  from  the  opera  ;  I 
will  go  masked  into  a  shop,  and  will 
purchase  a  domino  and  a  mask  for  you. 
You  can  put  them  on  in  the  carriage.' 

'  Countess,  do  you  know  this  is  a  de- 
lightful party  T 

4  Oh !  monseigneur,  your  goodness 
overwhelms  me  with  confusion, — but 
now  I  think  of  it,  perhaps  at  the  Hotel 
de  Rohan  your  eminence  can  find  a  do- 
mino more  to  his  taste  than  any  WL< 
could  purchase.1 

'  This  malice  is  unpardonable,  Coun- 
1  f  I  go  to  the  ball  at  the  opera,  I 
thing — ' 


'  And  what  is  that,  monseigneur  ?' 

1  That  I  should  be  as  much  surprised 
at  finding  myself  there,  as  you  would 
were  you  to  sup  tete-a-tete  with  &ny 
other  man  than  your  husband.' 

Jeanne  felt  that  she  had  nothing  to 
reply,  and  she  thanked  him. 

A  carriage  without  armorial  bearings 
received  the  two  fugitives,  and  pro- 
ceeded towards  the  boulevards  at  a 
round  trot. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

A  FEW  WORDS  ABOUT  THE  OPERA. 

THE  opera,  that  temple  of  pleasure  in 
Paris,  had  been  burned  down  in  the 
month  of  June,  1781. 

Twenty  persons  had  perishe'd  in  the 
ruins ;  and  as  this  was  a  misfortune 
which  had  happened  twice  in  eighteen 
years,  the  accustomed  site  of  the  opera, 
that  is  to  say  the  Palais  Royal,  had  ap- 
peared fatal  to  the  joys  of  the  Parisians, 
and  by  an  ordonnance  of  the  King  it 
was  transferred  to  another  quarter. 

The  neighborhood  of  this  vast  town 
of  wood  and  canvass,  of  pasteboard  and 
paintings  had  always  somewhat  alarmed 
the  citizens  who  dwek  in  its  vicinity. 
The  opera,  placed  in  a  more  safe  poai- 
tion,  inflamed  the  hearts  of  financiers 
and  people  of  quality,  and  put  rank  and 
fortune  on  a  footing  of  greater  equality. 
The  opera  once  in  combustion  might 
destroy  a  large  portion  of  the  city,. if 
not  the  whole  of  it. 

The  site  chosen  was  near  the  Porte 
Saint  Martin.  The  king,  grieved  to 
find  that  his  good  city  of  Paris  would 
for  a  long  time  be  deprived  of  its  opera, 
became  as  sorrowful  as  was  his  wont, 
when  the  arrivals  of  corn  were  less 
abundant  than  usual,  or  that  bread  ex- 
ceeded the  price  of  seven  sous  .for  the 
four  pound  loaf. 

It  was  curious  to  see  all  the  old  nobi- 
lity, all  the  young  herd  of  lawyers,  all 
military  men,  and  all  financiers  thrown 
out  of  their  accustomed  habits,  by  this 
void  paused  in  their  evening  amuse- 
ments ;  to  watch  wandering  about  the 
promenades  hosts  of  divinities  without 
asylum,  from. those  who  merely  formed 
the  drapery  up  to  the  first  enchantresses 
of  the  fashionable  world. 

To  console  the  king,  and  even  the 
queen  a  little,  M.  Lenoir,  an  architect, 
was  presented  to  them,  who  promised 
mountains  and  marvels. 


118 


THE  QUEEN'S  NECKLACE;    OR,  THE 


This  worthy  man  had  formed  new 
plans,  by  which  he  established  so  per- 
fect a  system  of  passages  and  issues, 
that  even  in  the  event  of  the  theatre 
taking  fire,  no  on*  could  be  stifled  in 
the  lobbies.  He  opened  eight  doors, 
through  which  the  audience  could  "es- 
cape, without  counting  a  first  story,  in 
which  there  were  five  wide  windows, 
and  at  so  slight  an  elevation  from  the 
ground,  that  the  most  cowardly  could 
jump  from  them  on  to  the  boulevard, 
without  fear  of  any  more  serious  acci- 
dent than  a  sprained  ancle. 

M.  Lenoir  gave  (to  supply  the  place 
of  the  beautiful  theatre  built  by  Moreau, 
with  its  paintings  by  Durameaux,)  a 
building  having  a  frontage  of  ninety-six 
feet  on  the  boulevard ;  the  facade  or- 
namented by  eight  cariatides,  to  form 
three  entrance*  doors  ;  eight  columns, 
the  pedestals  of  which  were  supported 
by  the  under  basement,  and  further,  a 
bas  relief  above  the  capitals,  with  a  bal- 
cony of  three  windows,  ornamented 
with  archivolts. 

The  stage  at  the  proscenium  was  to 
be  thirty-six  feet  in  width,  the  whole 
theatre  to  be  seventy-two  feet  in  depth, 
and  eighty-four  feet  in  width,  from  one 
wall  to  the  other. 

There  were  to  be  saloons  ornamented 
with  looking-glasses,  the  decorations  of 
which  were  to  be  simple  but  noble. 

Under  the  orchestra,  and  along  the 
whole  width  of  the  theatre,  M.  Le- 
noir had  reserved  a  space  of  twelve  feet 
to  contain  an  immense  reservoir  and 
two  engines,  for  the  working  of  which 
twenty  soldiers  of  the  French  Guards 
should  be  in  attendance. 

In  short,  to  complete  the  wonder,  the 
architect  asked  for  only  seventy-five 
days  and  seventy-five  nights;  and  the 
theatre  was  to  be  ready  for  the  recep- 
tion of  the  public,  in  thai  time  not  one 
hour  ei|her  more  or  !••>--. 

Thi-  li.st  .-iftirli-  :i|)jic:ircii  ii  incrc 
Gascon  boust  and  wns  much  laughed  at 
at  first,  but  the  king  made  his  calcu- 
lations with  M.  Lenoir  and  agreed  to 
all  his  conditions. 

M.  Letioir  nt  onc^  set*to  work  and 
he  kept  his  promise.  The  theati'e  was 
built  in  the  time  he  had  stipulated. 

But  then  the  public,  never  satisfied 
nor  confiding,  began  to  reflect  that  the 
theatre  was  built  of  wood,  that  being 
the  only  way  in  which  it  could  have 
been  so  speedily  constructed,  and  that 
this  very  quickness  was  an  element  of 
instability,  consequently  the  new  opera 
house  could  not  be  solid.  This  theatre, 


the  cause  of  so  many  longing  sighs, 
which  people  had  watched  rising  from 
the  ground  beam  by  beam,  this  public 
monument  which  all  Paris  came  every 
evening  to  gaze  upon  and  admire  the 
celerity  with  which  it  had  been  made 
to  tower  above  the  ground,  no  one 
would  enter  when  it  was  nt  length  com- 
pleted. The  most  courageous,  or  mad- 
men as  they  were  called,  took  tickets 
for  the  first  performance  of  Adelo  de 
Ponthieu,  the  music  by  Piccini,  but 
they  at  the  same  time  took  the  precau- 
tion to  make  their  wills. 

On  seeing  this,  the  architect  in  des- 
pair, had  recourse  to  his  Majesty,  who 
gave  him  an  idea. 

'  The  only  poltroons  in  France,'  said 
his  Majesty,  '  are  the  people  who  pay, 
they  would  willingly  present  you  with 
an  income  of  ten  thousand  livres  or  al- 
low themselves  to  be  stifled  in  a  crowd 
at  court, "but  they  will  not  run  the  risk 
of  being  smothered  beneath  falling  ceil- 
ings. Leave  those  people  to  me,  and 
you  invite  brave  fellows  who  cannot  af- 
ford to  pay.  The  queen  has  just  pre- 
sented me  with  a  Dauphin  :  the  city  is 
now  beside  itself  with  joy.  Let  it  be 
publicly  announced  that  in  order  to  cele- 
brate the  birth  of  my  son,  the  opera  shah1 
be  opened  by  a  gratuitous  performance, 
and  if  two  thousand  five  hundred  people 
huddled  together,  that  is  to  say,  an  ag- 
gregate weight  of  three  hundred  thou- 
sand pounds  should  not  be  sufficient  to 
test  the  solidity  of  the  building,  beg  all 
those  fellows  to  jump  about  a  little  ;  you 
know,  Monsieur  Lenoir,  that  weight 
becomes  quintupled  when  it  falls  from 
a  height  of  four  inches.  Your  t*^o  thou- 
sand five  hundred  brave  fellows  will 
then  weigh  fifteen  hundred  thousand 
pounds  if  you  would  inane  them  dance; 
therefore  give  a  ball  after  the  opera 
is  over. 

4  Thanks,  Sire,'  said  the  architect. 

4  But  first  of  all  you  must  reflect  that 
this  will  be  very  heavy.' 

*  Sire,  I  am  certain  of  my  work,  and 
I  shall  be  at  the  ball. 

4  And  I,'  said  the  king,  41  promise 
you  that  I  will  attend  the  second  per- 
formance.' 

The  architect  followed  the  king's  ad- 
vice. Adele  de  Ponthieu  was  played 
before  three  thousand  plebeians,  who 
applauded  more  lustily  than  kings. 

These  plebeians  were  right  willing  to 
dance  after  the  opera.  Their  weight 
would  be  tenfold  instead  of  quintuple. 

Not  a  nail  stirred  in  the  whole  build- 


MYSTERIES  OF  THE  COURT  OF  LOUIS  XVI. 


119 


If  there  had  been  any  accident  to  ap- 

Srehend,  it  would  have  happened  dur- 
ig  the  ensuing  performances,  for  the 
theatre  was  literally  crammed  with  the 
illustrious  paltroons,  who  had  feared  to 
attend  the  opening.  It  was  to  this 
theatre  that,  three  years  after  the  above 
event,  the  Cardinal  de  Rohan  and  Ma- 
dame de  La  Mothe  were  proceeding. 

Such  is  the  preamble  we  considered 
due  to  our  readers,  and  now  we  will 
return  to  our  history. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

THE    OPERA    BALL. 

THE  ball  was  at  its  height,  when  the 
Cardinal  de  Rohan  and  Madame  de  La 
Mothe  slipped  in  stealthily,  the  prelate 
at  all  events,  among  the  thousands  of 
dominos  and  disguises  of  every  de- 
scription. , 

They  were  soon  in  the  very  thickest 
of  the  throng,  in  which  they  disappear- 
ed, as  disappear  in  the  greater  whirl- 
pools of  it  river  those  small  circles 
which  for  a  moment  are  remarked  by 
those  who  watch  upon  its  bank,  and  are 
then  effaced  and  borne  away  Ity  the 
current. 

Two  dominos  standing  side  by  side, 
as  much  as  it  was  possible  to  stand  side 
by  side  in  such  a  pell-mell  throng,  en- 
deavored, by  uniting  their  strength,  to 
resist  this  invasion ;  but  seeing  they 
could  not  succeed,  they  resolved  on 
taking  refuge  under  the  queen's  box, 
where  the  crowd  was  less  dense,  and 
where,  moreover,  the  wall  afforded  them 
support. 

One  had  a  black,  the  other  a  white 
domino  ;  the  one  was  tall,  the  other  of 
a  middling  stature ;  the  one  a  man,  the 
other  ii  woman  ;  the  one  gesticulating 
with  his  arms,  the  other  turning  her 
head  repeatedly  faom  right  to  left  and 
from  left  to  right. 

These  two  dominos  were  evidently 
engaged  in  a  most  animated  colloquy. 

Let  us  listen  to  them. 

'  I  tell  you,  Oliva,  that  you  are  ex- 
pecting some  one,'  said  the  tallest. 
'  Your  neck  is  no  longer  a  neck,  but  the 
rod  of  a  weathercock,  which  turns  not 
only  with  every  wind,  but  to  every 
coiner.' 

4  Well,  and  what  then  ?' 

'  What  mean  you  by  what  then  ?' 

1  Yes ;  what  is  there  astonishing  in 
my  head  turning  ;  did  I  not  come  here 
expressly  that  it  should  ?' 


'  But,  if  you  turn  other  people's 
heads — ' 

'  Well,  sir,  and  what  do  people  como 
to  the  opera  for  ?' 

'  For  a  thousand  reasons.' 

'•Oh !  yes,  undoubtedly,  the  men ; 
but  the  women  come  here  with  one 
only  object.' 

4  And  what  is  that  ?' 

'  That  which  you  just  now  spoke  of, 
to  turn  as  many  heads  as  possible.  You 
have  brought  me  to  the  ball ;  I  am  here, 
and,  therefore,  you  must  be  resigned 
to  it.' 

4  Mademoiselle  Oliva !' 

4  Oh  !  do  not  put  on  you  gruff  voice  ; 
yo,u  know  that  your  gruff  voice  cannot 
alarm  me,  and  above  all  dispense  with 
callingme  by  name.  You.  know  that 
nothing  cau  be  in  worse  taste  than  to 
call  people  by  name  at  an  opera  ball  ?' 

The  black  domino  made  an  aogry  ges- 
ture which  was  abruptly  arrested  by 
the  arrival  of  a  blue  domino,  rather 
stout,  rather  tall,  but  of  fashionable  ap- 
pearance. 

4  There  !  there  !  sir,'  said  the  new 
comer,  '  allow  Madam  to  amuse  herself 
as  she  thinks  fit.  What,  the  deuse  !  it 
is  not  mid-Lent  every  day,  and  it  is  not 
every  mid-Lent  that  people  come  to 
opera.' 

1  Meddle  yourself  in  matters  that  con- 
cern you,'  brutally  retorted  the  black 
domino. 

1  Oh !  Sir,'  cried  the  blue  domino, 
remember,  once  for  all,  that  a  little 
courtesy  is  never  out  of  place.' 

'  I  do  not  know  you,'  replied  the  black 
domino,  'then  why,  the  devil,  should  I 
stand  on  ceremony  with  you.' 

'You  do  not  know  me — be  it  ao ; 
but ' 

4  But  what  ?' 

4 1  know  you,  Monseiur  de  Beausire, 

On  hearing  his  own  name  mentioned, 
he  who  so  flippantly  pronounced  the 
names  of  others,  the  black  domino 
trembled,  a  sensation  which  was  visible 
from  the  quick  vibrations  6*f  his  silk 
hood. 

'  Oh  !  do  not  be  alnrmed,  Monsieur 
de  Beausire,'  rejoined  the  mask,  '  I  am 
not  what  you  think  me.' 

'  And,  zounds,  what  do  I  think  you 
then  /  Can  you  who  guess  names  so 
patly,  not  feel  satisfied  with  that,  but 
you  must  also  guess  their  thoughts?" 

4  And  why  not?' 

'  Then  please  to  guess  a  little  what  I 
am  thinking.  I  have  never  seen  a  sor- 
cerer and  it  would  really  give  me  great 
pleasure  to  meet  with  one.' 


liiO 


THE  QUEEN'S  NECKLACE;  OR,  THE 


•  Oh  .  what  you  ask  of  me  is  not,  suf- 
ficiently  difficult  to  render  me  worthy 
of  the  title  which  you  appear  to  bestow 
BO  readily.' 

'  Never  mind,  say  on.' 

'  Nty  ask  something  else.'  • 

>  That  will  sniffle  e  for  me — guess  on.' 

'  You  really  wisTi  it  ?' 

'Yes.'' 

'  Well  then  ;  you  thought  that  I  was 
au  agent  of  M.  de  Crosne.' 

'Of'M.  de  Crosne?' 

'Oh.!  yes,  by  heaven!  of  course  you 
know  nothing  of  him — of  M.  de  Crosne, 
the  lieutenant  of  Police  ." 

•  Sir ' 

1  Gtently,  gently,  dear  MX  de  Beau- 
sire  ;  why  really  one  would  imagine 
you  were  feeling  to  ascertain  if  you  had 
a  3 word  by  your  side.' 

'  Uudoubtedly  I  was  seeking  for  it — ' 

'Odsbud!  what  a  frightfully  bel- 
ligerent disposition !  but  tranquillize 
yourself  M.  Beausire,  you  left  your 
sword  at  home,  and  you  did  very  right- 
ly. Let  us  now  speak  of  something 
else.  Will  you  if  you  please  allow  me 
to  offer  my  arm  to  madame  ?' 

1  Your  arm  to  madame  ?' 

'  Yes,  to  madame.  That  is'  not  un- 
usual, it  appears  to  me  at  an  opera  ball, 
or  have  I  but  lately  arrived  from  the 
Eust  Indies  ?' 

'  Undoubtedly,  sir,  it  is  a  thing  that 
happens,  when  it  suits  the  ladie's  cava- 
lier.' 

•  It  sometimes  suffices,  dear  M.  Beau- 
sire  that  it  should  suit  the  lady.' 

•  IB  it  for  a  long  time  you  ask  me  to 
give  up  her  arm  ?' 

•  Oh !  M.  Beausire,  you  are  really  too 
inquisitive.     Perhaps  for  ten  minutes; 
perhaps  for  an   hour ;  perhaps  for  the 
whole  night.' 

•  Come,    come,   sir,  you   are   surely 
making"  sport  of  me  ?' 

'  Dear  sir,  answer  plainly,  yes  or  no : 
yes  or  no,  will  you  allow  me  to  take 
the  lady's  arm  ?' 

•No.' 

'  Tush !  tush,  man ;  do  not  be  BO 
cross.' 

4  And  why  not  .'' 

'  Because  as  you  have  one  mask,  it 
is  not  nece*ssary  to  put  on  two.' 

'By  heavens!  sir, — ' 

'  There  now,  you  are  getting  angry 
again,  you  who  were  so  gentle  but  a  lit- 
tle while  ago.' 

'  And  whore  ?' 

•  Why,  in  the  Rue  Dtiuphinr.' 
'Rue   Dauphine."    exclaimed   Beau- 

uire  perfectly  astonished. 


Oliva  burst  into  a  loud  laugh. 

'  Be  silent,  madam  !'  cried  the  black 
domino  grinding  his  teeth. 

Then  turning  towards  the  blue  do- 
mino, 

'  I  do  not  understand  a  word  of  what 
you  have  been  saying,  sir.  Mysti- 
fy me  in  a  decent  manner  if  that  be 
possible  to  you.' 

'  But,  dear  sir,  it  appears  to  me  thai 
nothing  can  be  more  decent  than  the 
truth.  Is  it  not  so,  Mademoiselle 
Oliva  ?' 

'  Why  really  !'  cried  the  latter,  '  you 
know  me  also  then  ?' 

'  Did  not  this  gentleman  call  you  bj 
your  name  just  now  ?' 

'  And  the  truth — '  said  Beausire,  re- 
suming the  conversation,  'the  truth 

'  That  at  the  very  moment  you  wera 
about  to  kill  this  poor  lady  you  paused 
on  hearing  the  sound  of  some  twenty 
louis , 

'  Enough,  sir.' 

'  Well  be  it  so.  But  since  you  have 
had  enough,  give  me  that  ladie's  arm.' 

'  Oh !  I  see  clearly,'  muttered  Bean- 
sire  'that  madam  and  you ' 

'  Well !  madam  and  I ' 

'  You  understand  each  other.' 

'  J  swear  to  you  that  it  is  not  so/ 

'  Oh !  is  it  possible  to  say  such  things  ?* 
cried  Oliva. 

'And  moreover — '  added  the  blue 
domino. 

'  How  !  moreover — ' 

'  Yes,  if  we  did  understand  each  oth- 
er, it  would  be  only  for  your  good.' 

'  For  my  good  ?' 

•  Undoubtedly.' 

'  When  people  advance  a  thing,  they 
ought  to  prove  it,'  said  Beausire,  cava- 
lierly. » 

'  Willingly. 

'  Oh  !  I  should  be  curious  to  know—' 

'I  will  prove,  then,'  continued  the 
blue  dornino,  '  that  your  presence  here 
would  be  as  injurious  to  you  as  your 
absence  would  be  profitable.' 

'  To  me  ?' 

'  Yes,  to  you.' 

'  And  in  what  way,  I  beg  to  know  ?' 

'  We  are  members  of  a  certain  aca- 
demy, are  we  not  ?' 

'  Who,  I  ?' 

.  '  Oh  .'  do  not  get  angry,  Monsieur  do 
Beausire,  I  was  not  speaking  of  the 
Academie  Franyaise.  In  the  Rut  du 
Pot  de  Fer  a  story  below  the  ground 
door.  Is  it  not  really  so,  dear  Monsieur 
de  Beuugire  ?' 

•  Hush  ." 


MYSTERIES  OF  THE  COURT  OF  LOUIS  XVI. 


121 


'Pooh.!' 

'  Yes,  hush  !  what  a  disagreeable 
man  you  make  yourself,  sir!'% 

'  That  is  a  thing  not  to  be  said.' 

'  And  why  not  ?' 

1  Zou-uls  !  because  you  do  not  believe 
a.word  of  it  ;  therefore,  let  us  return  to 


Well?' 

The  blue  domino  took  out  a  watch,  a 
handsome  watch,  richly  set  in  diamonds, 
on  which  Beausire's  two  eye*  glistened 
with  sparkling  rays. 

4  Well,'  repeated  the  latter. 

4  Well,  then,  in  a  quarter  of  tm  hour 
from  this  time,  and  at  your  academy  in 
the  Rue  du  Pot  de  Fer,  dear  Monsieur 
de,  Beausire,  they  will  begin  to  discuss 
a  little  project  tending  to  confer  a  profit 
of  two  millions  on  the  twelve  real  part- 
ners of  the  association,  of  which  you 
are  one,  Monsieur  de  Beausire.' 

'  Arid  of  which  you  are  another,  if 
you,  are  not  -  ' 

'  Well,  finish  your  sentence.' 

•If  you  are  not  a  spy  —  ' 

•  I  really  took  you  for  a  man  of  intel- 
lect, Monsieur  de  Beausire,   but  I  am 
inexpressibly   grieved   to  find  that  you 
are  little    better  than   a   fool  ;  if  I  be- 
longed  to   the    police,    I    should    have 
caught  you  over  and  over  again  —  aye, 
twenty  times,  for  alfairs   less  honorable 
than  this  two  millions,  which  is  to  be 
discussed  at  the  academy  in  a  few  mi- 
nutes.' 

Beausire  reflected  for  a  few  mo- 
ments. 

'  The  devil  !'  said  he,  '  you  must  in- 
deed be  right.' 

Then  after  again  considering. 

'  Oh  !  sir,  you  are  sending  me  to  the 
Pot  de  Fer.' 

'  I  am  sending  you  ?' 

'  Oh  !  I  well  know  why.' 

•  Say  on.' 

1  To  have  me  caught  in  a  trap.  But 
1  am  not  quite  such  a  fool  as  that.' 

1  Another  stupidity-' 

4  Sir  -  ' 

4Uudoubetdly  ;  for  if  I  have  the  power 
to  do  as  you  say  ;  if  I  have  the  still  great- 
er power  of  divining  what  is  now  plot- 
ting at  your  academy,  why  should  I 
come  here  to  ask  your  permission  to 
converse  with  this  lady  ?  Nu,  in  that 
case,  I  should  have  you  arrested  at 
once,  upon  the  spot,  and  thus  madame 
and  I  would  at  once  get  rid  of  you.  But 
on  the  contrary,  my  device  is  "  all  by 
gentleness  and  persuasion,"  dear  Mon- 
sieur de  Beaubire.' 

4  Well,  let  us  see,'  cried  Beausire. 
14 


I  suddenly  releasing  Oliva's  arm,  '  it  was 
I  you  who  was  upon  the  sofa  in  madam's 
room.  Hey  !  was  it  not  sol  reply.' 

4  What  sofa?'  inquired  the  blue  do* 
mi  no,  whose  little  finger  Oliva  slightly 
pinched.  '  The  only  sofa  I  know  of  ia 
that  of  M.^febillon  the  younger.' 

'  In  fact,  'tis  all  the  same  to  me/  re- 
joined Beausire,  '  your  reasons  are 
good,  and  that  is  all  I  need.  I  said 
good,  I  ought?  to  have  said  excellent; 
therefore  take  the  lady's  arm  ;  and  if 
you  have  led  a  worthy  man  into  error, 
blush  for  yourself,  that's  all!' 

The  blue  domino  laughed  heartily  at 
this  epithet  of  worthy  man  which  Beau- 
sire  had  so  liberally  bestowed  upon  him- 
self, then  tapping  him  upon  the  shoul- 
der, said  : 

'  Sleep  tranquilly  :  by  sending  you 
down  yonder  1  make  you  a  present  of 
a  hundred  thousand  livjes  at  the  least ; 
for  were  you  not  to  go  to  the  acade- 
my to-night,  you  would,  according  to 
the  custom  of  your  partness,  be  left 
out  of  the  division  of  the  profits,  while 
by  going  there — ' 

4  Well  be  it  so  ;  here  goes  for  the 
chance,'  murmured  Beausire  and  bow- 
ing whirled  round  upon  his  heel  and 
disappeared. 

'  The  blue  domino  took  possession  of 
Mademoiselle  Oliva's  arm  become  va- 
cant by  the  disappearance  of  Beausire. 

1  And  now,'  said  ahe,  'it  is  our  turn. 
I  allowed  you  to  mystify  that  poor 
Beausire  at  your  good  pleasure,  but  I 
forewarn  you  that  you  will  find  me  rath- 
er a  more  difficult  subject,  for  I  know 
you.  Therefore,  if  we  are  to  remain 
together,  say  pretty  things  to  me,  for  if 
not ' 

4 1  know  nothing  more  pretty  than 
your  own  history,  dear  Mademoiselle 
Nicole,'  said  the  blue  domino,  agree- 
ably pressing  the  round  arm  of  the  lit- 
tle woman,  who  uttered  a  smothered 
shriek,  on  hearing  the  name  which  the 
mask  had  whispered  in  her  ear. 

But  she  soon  recovered  her  self-pos- 
j  session,  ac  a  persou  accustomed  not  to 
allow  herself  to  be  taken  by  surprise. 

'  Ak,  good  heaven  !  what  i»  the  mean- 
iug  of  thafenamo  ?'  she  asked.  '  Nicole  ! 
are  you  speaking  of  me  ?  Do  you, 
perchance,  mean  to  designate  me  by 
thai  name?  If  it  be  so,  you  are  ship- 
wrecked as  soon  as  you  leave  port,  you 
are  lost  on  striking  the  first  rock.'  My 
name  is  not  Nicole.' 

'  Yes,  I  am  well  aware  that  now  you 
call  yourself  Oliva — Nicole  was  too  pro- 
vincial altogether.  1  well  know  that  la 


122 


THE  QUEEN'S  NECKLACE ;  OR,  THE 


you  there  are  two  women,  Nicole  and 
Oliva.  We  will  speak  presently  of 
Oliva;  but,  "first  of  all,  let  us  speak  of 
Nicole.  Have  you  forgotten  the  time 
when  you  answered  to  that  name  ?  I 
do  not  believe  a  word  of  it.  Ah  !  my 
dear  child,  when  one  has  borne  a  name 
as  a  young  girl,  it  is  always  that  name 
which  is  preserved,  if  not  outwardly,  at 
all  events  in  the  recesses  of  the  heart, 
whatever  name  one  may  have  been 
compelled  to  adopt  in  order  to  forget 
the  first.  Poor  Oliva !  Happy  Ni- 
cole !' 

At  that  moment,  a  flood  of  masks 
struck  like  a  storm-wnve  against  the 
two  promenaders,  and  Nicole,  or  Oliva, 
was  forced,  almost  in  spite  of  herself, 
to  cling  still  more  closely  to  her  com- 
panion. 

'  See,'  said  he.  *see  all  this  motley 
crowd  ;  see  all  these  groups  pressing 
together,  even  forcing  themselves  un- 
der each  other's  hoods,  to  devour  the 
words  of  gallantry  or  love  which  they 
are  uttering ;  see  those  groups  which 
form  and  then  disunite, — some  with 
joyous  laughter,  others  with  reproaches. 
All  these  people  have  perhaps  as  many 
names  as  you  have,  and  there  are  many 
of  them  whom  I  could  astonish  by 
whispering  names  that  they  remember, 
but  believe  long  since  forgotten  by  all 
else.' 

4  You  said  Poor  Oliva — ' 

'  Yes—' 

'  You  do  not,  then,  believe  that  I  am 
happy  /' 

'  Tt  would  be  difficult,  indeed,  for  you 
to  be  happy  with  such  a  man  as  Beau- 
sire.' 

Oliva  sighed. 

'  Neither  am  I  so,'  she  said. 

'And,  nevertheless,  you  love  him.' 

'  Oh  !  reasonably.' 

'  If  you  do  no't  love  him,  leave  him.' 

'No.' 

4  And  wherefore  not  ?' 

4  Because  I  should  no  sooner  have  left 
him  than  I  should  regret  him.' 

'  You  would  regret  him  1' 

4 1  fear  so.' 

4  And  what,  then,  could  you  have  to 
fear  in  a  drunkard,  a  gambler, — in  a 
man  who  bents  you,  who  is  a  swindler, 
and  who  will  one  day  pay  the  forfeit  of 
his  crimes  by  being  hanged.' 

'  Perhaps  you  will  not  comprehend 
that  which  I  am  about  to  say.' 

4  Nevertheless,  say  on.' 

'  1  s'.iould  regret  the  noise  he  makes 
•round  me.' 

4 1  ought  to  have  imagined  that.  And 


thus  it  is,  when  youth  has  been  pasaod 
aw»iy,  among  silent  people.' 

'  You  know,  then,  how  I  passed  my 
youth  ?' 

'  Perfectly.' 

'  Ah  !  my  dear  sir,'  said  Oliva,  laugh- 
ing, and  shaking  her  head  with  an  air 
of  defiance. 

4  You  doubt  it  ?' 

'  Oh  !  I  do  not  doubt,  I  am  sure  you 
do  not.' 

1  We  will  then  talk  of  your  youth, 
Mademoiselle  Nicole.' 

'  Talk  on,  but  I  forewarn  you  I  will 
not  reply.' 

'  Oh  !  I  need  not  that.' 

4 1  am  waiting.' 

4 1  shall  not  begin  at  your  early  in- 
fancy, a  time  which  counts  not  as  life  ; 
I  will  take  you  at  the  age  of  puberty,  at 
the  moment  when  you  first  perceived 
that  God  had  placed  within  your  breast 
a  heart,  that  you  might  love.' 

'  Love  .who  ?' 

4  To  love  Gilbert.' 

On  hearing  this  word,  this  name,  a 
shudder  thrilled  through  every  vein  of 
the  young  woman's  frame,  and  the  blue 
domino  felt  that  she  clung  trembling  to 
his  arm.  'Oh!  great  God!'  she  ex- 
claimed, '  how  can  you  know  this — ' 

And  pausing  suddenly,  she  darted 
through  her  mask  a  look  of  indefinable 
emotion  at  the  blue  domino. 

The  blue  domino  remained  silent. 

Oliva,  or  rather  Nicole,  sighed  pro- 
foundly. 

'  Ah  !  sir,'  she  said,  without  endea- 
voring to  continue  her  denial  any  long- 
er, '  you  have  just  pronounced  a  name 
which  to  me  is  fertile  in  recollections. 
You  then  know  this  Gilbert.' 

*  Yes.  since  I  am  speaking  of  him  tx> 
you.' 

/  He  was  handsome — no — it  was  not 
that — but  I  thought  him  handsome. 
He  was  full  of  intelligence.  We  were 
equal  in  point  of  birth.  But  no,  this 
time,  above  all,  I  am  mistaken.  Equal, 
no,  never.  Should  Gilbert  so  pleasev 
no  woman  can  be  his  equal.' 

4  Not  even — 

4  Not  even  who  ?' 

'  Not  even  Mademoiselle  de  T !' 

'  Oh  !  I  know  what  you  would  say,' 
cried  Nicole  interrupting  him.  'Oh! 
you  are  well  informed  of  (ill  this  matter, 
sir,  I  see  that  clearly;  yes,  he  loved 
one  of  higher  rank  than  poor  Nicole.' 

4 1  have  paused,  you  see.' 

'  Yes,  yes,  you  are  acquainted  with 
some  dreadful  secrets,  sir,'  continued 
Nicole  shuddering;  'and  now ' 


MYSTERIES  OF  THE  COURT  OF  LOUIS  XVI. 


123 


She  fixed  her  eyes  upon  the  blue  do- 
mine  as  if  she  could  read  through  his 
mask. 

4  And  now,  what  has  become  of 
him?' 

4  That  is  a  thing  which  I  believe  you 
can  tell  better  than  any  one.' 

'  And  why  ?  great  God  !' 

'  Because  if  he  followed  you  from 
Taverney  to  Paris,  you  followed  him 
from  Paris  to  Trianon.' 
. '.  • '  Yes  that  is  true  ;  but  thafc  was  ten 
years  ago ;  nor  indeed,  was  it  of  that 
time  I  was  speaking.  I  am  speaking  of 
the  ten  years  which  have  elapsed  since 
I  ran  nway  from  Tranon,  and  he  disap- 
peared. Good  Heavens !  how  many 
things  can  happen  in  ten  years.' 

The  blue  domino  utlered  not  a  word. 

4 1  beg  of  you,'  persisted  Nicole  al- 
most supplicatingly,  'tell  me,  what  has 
become  of  Gilbert  ?  You  remain  silent, 
you  ,  turn  away  your  head.  Perhaps 
the  rememberance  wounds  your  feel- 
ings, renders  you  sorrowful?' 

The  blue  domino  had,  in  fact,  not 
turned  away  his  head  but  bowed  it  down, 
as  if  the  weight  of  his  recollections  were 
too  heavy  for  it. 

'  When  Gilbert  loved  Mademoiselle 
de  Taverney,'  said  Oliva. 

'  Speak  lower  when  you  mention 
names,'  said  the  blue  domino.  '  Have 
you  not  observed  thut  I  have  not  my- 
self pronounced  them.' 

'  When  he  loved  so  deeply,'  continu- 
ed Oliva,  with  a  sigh,  '  that  every  tree 
in  Trianon  knew  of  his  love.' 

•  Well,  but  you  no    longer  loved  him 
then?' 

4  On  the  contrary  I  loved  him  more 
than  ever,  and  it  was  that '  love  that 
lost  me.  I  am  handsome,  I  am  proud, 
and  when  I  please  I  can  be  insolent.  I 
would  place  my  head  upon  a  block  and 
allow  it  to  be  chopped  off,  rather  than 
permit  it  to  be  said  that  I  had  bowed  it 
down  before  any  one.' 

'  You  have  a  stout  heart,  Nicole.' 

•  Yes,  once  I  hud.' 

'This  conversation  saddens  you?' 
'  No,  on  the  contrary,  it  does  me  good 
to  trace  back  my  steps  towards  my 
youth.  It  is  with  life  as  with  rivers, 
the  most  muddy  stream  has  a  pure 
source.  Continue,  and  do  not  pay  at- 
tention ro  any  poor.stray  sigh  which  is- 
sues from  my  breast.' 

4  Oh."  said  the  blue  domino  with  a 
gentle  nodding  of  the  head,  which  be- 
trayed a  smile  concealed  beneath  his 
mask  ;  4  with  regard  to  you,  to  Gilbert 
and  to  another  person,  I  know,  my  poor 


child,  all  that  you  yourself  can  possibly 
know.' 

4  Then,'  cried  Oliva,  4  tell  me,  why  it 
was  that  Gilbert  fled  from  Trianon;  and 
if  you  tell  me  that ' 

'  You  will  then  be  convinced  ?  WeQ 
fthen,  I  will  not  tell  you  that,  and  you 
will  be  still  more  thoroughly  convinc- 
ed.' 

4  How  can  that  be  ?' 

4  In  asking  me  \vhy  Gilbert  left  Tria- 
non, it  is  not  that  you  wish  to  ascertain 
whether  I  speak  the  truth  in  answering 
you,  but  it  is  a  fact  of  which  you  are 
yourself  ignorant,  and  of  which  you  are 
very  desirous  to  be  informed.' 

'That  is  true,'  said  Oliva. 

Then  shuddering  more  violently  than 
she  had  done,  she  seized  both  bis  hands* 
in  hers,  with  convulMve  strength. 

4  My  God  !'  she  exclaimed,  •  My 
God  ." 

'  Well!  what  does  this  mean?' 

Nicole  appeared  to  recover  herself, 
and  to  dismiss  the  idea  which  had  pro- 
duced this  agitation. 

4  Nothing.' 

4  Oh !  yes,  you  wished  to  ask  me 
something.' 

'  Well,  then,  tell  me  at  once,  and 
frankly,  what  has  become  of  Gilbert  ?' 

4  Have  you  not  heard  it  said  that  he 
is  dead  ?' 

4  Yes,  but ' 

'  Well,  then,  he  is  dead.' 

4  Dead ."-  exclaimed  Nicole  with  an  air 
of  doubt. 

Then,  with  another  shudder  similar 
to  the  first, 

4  For  mercy's  sake,  sir,'  said  she,  '  do 
me  one  service.' 

'Two,  ten,  as  many  as  you  please, 
my  dear  Nicole.' 

'  I  sa -fr  you  at  my  lodgings  about  two 
hours  ago,  did  I  not,  for  it  was  certainly 
you  ?' 

'  Undoubtedly.' 

'  Two  hours  ago,  you  did  not  attempt 
to  conceal  yourself  from  me.' 

'By  no  means;  on  the  contrary,  I  did 
all  I  could  to  enable  you  to  see  me  per- 
fectly.' 

4  Oh  !  mad,  madwoman  that  I  am.  I 
who  looked  at  you  so  much.  Mud,  mad, 
stupid  woman,  nothing  but  woman,  as 
Gilbert  used,  to  say.' 

'  Well,  now  !  leave  your  lovely  locks 
alone  ;  spare  your  hair,  Nicole.' 

'  No  ;  I  will  punish  myself  for  having 
looked  at  you  without  seeing  you.' 

'  I  do  not  understand  you.' 

4  Do  you  know  what  I  am  going  to 
ask  of  you?' 


,,, 


THE  QUEEN'S  NECKLACE ;    OB,,  THE 


•  Ask  on.' 

•  Take  off  your  mask.' 

1  What,  here  ?  Impossible.' 
4  Oh !  it  is  not  the  fear  of  being  seen  i 
by  other  eyes  than  mine,  that  prevents 
you  from  taking  it  off.  For  there,  be- 
hind that  column,  under  the  shade  of 
that  gallery,  no  one  but  myself  could 
see  you.' 

'  What  is  it,  then,  that  prevents  me.' 
'You  are  afraid  that  I  should  recog- 
nize you.' 

•  Who,  I  ?V 

'  And  that  I  should  exclaim,  '  "Tis 
you!  'tis  Gilbert!' 

1  Ah !  you  were  right  in  saying  mad ! 
mad ." 

•  Take  off  your  mask.' 

'  Well !  be  it  so,  but  upon  one  condi- 
tion.' 

''Tis  granted  berore  asking.' 

'  It  is  that  in  my  turn  I  may  ask  you 
to  take  off  your  mask.' 

'I  will  take  it  off;  and  should  I  not 
you  may  tear  it  from  my  face.' 

The  blue  domino  at  once  yielded  to 
Nicole's  request,  he  went  into  the  dark 
corner  pointed  out  by  her,  and,  once 
there,  untied  his  mask  and  placed  him- 
self before  her  ;  she  gazed  at  him  eager- 
ly during  a  whole  minute. 

'  Alas  !  no,'  she  said  stamping  her  feet 
impatiently  and  wounding  the  palms 
of  her  hands  with  her  nails,  '  alas !  no, 
it  is  not  Gilbert.' 

'  And  who  am  I  ?' 

•  Of  what  consequence   is  that  to  me, 
since  you  are  not  he.' 

'  And  if  it  had  been  Gilbert  ?'  inquired 
the  unknown,  tying  on  his  mask  again. 

'  If  it  had  been  Gilbert  !'  exclaimed, 
the  young  girl  with  much  emotion. 

•  Yes.' 

•  If  he  had  said  to  me,   Nicole  !  Ni- 
cole !      remember    Taverney     Maison 
Rogue.' 

•  What  then  ?' 

1  There  would  be  no  longer  a  Beau- 
Hire  in  this  world.' 

'I  told  you,  n;y  dear  child,  that  Gil- 
bert is  dead.' 

'  Well,  perhaps  it  is  better  that  it 
should  be  so,'  sighed  Oliva. 

4  Yes,  Gilbert  would  not  have  loved 
you,  beautiful  as  you  are.' 

'  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  Gilbert 
would  have  despised  me.' 

'  No,  for  he  feared  you,  rather.' 

•  That   is  possible  ;  I  had   somewhat 
of  his  temper  in    me,  and  I   knew  him 
•o  well,  that  I  alarmed  him.' 

'  Therefore,  as  you  said,  it  is  better 
be  should  be  dead.' 


'  And  why  do  you  repeat  my,  words  ? 
From  your  lips  they  wound  me.  Why 
is  it  better  he  should  be  dead  ?  Tell 

5.' 

'  Because,  now,  my  dear  Oliva — you 
see  that  I  abandon  Nicole — because 
now,  my  deal1  Oliva,  you  have  before 
you,  a  rich,  a  brilliant  and  happy  fu- 
ture.' 

'  Do  you  think,  so  ?' 

'  Yes,  if  you  are  pel  fectly  determined 
to  do  every  thing  to  attain  the  end  I 
promise  you.' 

'  Oh !  you  may  rest  easy  on  thai 
score.' 

'  Only  you  need  not  sigh  any  more  aa 
you  sighed  just  now.' 

'  Be  it  so  ;  I  sighed  then  for  Gilbert, 
and  as  there  were  not  two  Gilberts  in 
the  world,  and  Gilbert  is  dead,  I  will 
sigh  no  more.' 

'  Gilbert  was  young  ;  he  had  the  de- 
fects and  the  good  qualities  of  youth ; 
but  now -' 

'  Gilbert  is  not  now  older  than  he  waa 
ten  years  ago.' 

'  No,  undoubtedly,  since  Gilbert  ia 
dead.' 

'  You  see  then,  he  is  dead — the  Gil- 
berts do  not  become  older  ;  they  die.' 

'  Oh  !'  exclaimed  the  unknown,  '  oh ! 
youth,  oh!  courage!  oh!  beauty!'  ye 
eternal  seeds  of  love,  of  heriosm  and  of 
devoted  ness.  He  who  loses  you,  loses 
even  life  itself — youth  is  paradise,  'tis 
Heaven,  'tis  all  !  What  God  bestows 
upon  us  afterwards  is  but  a  .  sorrowful 
compensation  for  our  youth.  The  more 
he  gives  to  man,  when  youth  has  once 
passed  away,  the  more  he  has  thought 
it  necessary  to  indemnify  him-  for  its 
loss.  But  nothing  can  replace,  great 
God !  the  treasures  which  that  youth 
bestowed  on  man.'  * 

'  Gilbert  would  have  thought  that 
which  you  have  so  eloquently  uttered/ 
said  Oliva,  '  but  enough  upon  this  sub- 
ject.' 

'  Yes,  let  us  speak  of  you.' 

'Let  us  speak  of  any  thing  yon 
please.' 

'  Why  did  you  run  off  with  Beau- 
•sire  ?' 

'  Because  I  wished  to  leave  Trianon, 
and  it  was  necessary  to  go  away  with 
some  one.  It  was  impossible  for  me  to 
remain  there  any  longer,  to  be,  in  Gil- 
bert's eyes,  a  mere  secondary  object, 
a  poor  disdained  remnant  of  former  af- 
fection— ' 

'  Ten  years  of  fidelity  from  mere 
pride,'  said  the  blue  domino.  '  Oh ! 
how  dearly  have  you  paid  that  vanity.' 


MYSTERIES  OF  THE  COURT  OF  LOUIS  XVI. 


Oliva  laughed. 

»Oh !  I  well  know  what  you  are 
laughing;  at,'  said  the  unknown,  grave- 
ly. 'You  laugh,  because  a  man  who 
pretends  to  know  every  thing,  accuses 
you  of  having  been  faithful  for  ten  years, 
when  you  did  not;  imagine  that  you  had 
been  guilty  of  any  thing  so  perfectly 
ridiculous.  Oh  !  good  Heaven !  if  it  be 
a  question  of  mere  material  fidelity, 
poor  young  woman,  I  well  know  what  to 
think  of  it.  Yes,  I  know  that  you  went 
into  Portugal  with  Beausire,  that  you 
remained  there  4;wo  whole  years,  that 
from  there  you  went  to  the  East  Indies, 
without  Beausire,  with  the  captain  of  a 
frigate  who  concealed  you  in  his  cabin, 
and  forgot  you  at  Chandernagor,  where 
he  left  you  on  terra  firma,  at  the  mo- 
ment of  his  returning  to  Europe.  I 
know  that  you  had  two  million  of  ru- 
pees to  spend  in  the  mansion  of  a  na- 
bob, who  locked  you  up  within  three 
iron  gates.  I  know  that  you  escaped 
by  climbing  over  these  gates,  being  as- 
sisted by  the  shoulders  of  a  slave.  I 
know,  in  short,  that  you  returned  to 
France,  to  Brest,  tolerably  rich,  for  you 
had  carried  off  two  bracelets  of  magni- 
ficent pearls,  two  diamonds  and  three 
large  rubies ;  that  your  evil  genius  led 
you  to  meet,  immediately  on  disem- 
barking, Beasuire,  who  almost  fainted 
on  recognizing  you,  bronzed  and  ema- 
ciated as  you  were,  on  returning  to 
France,  poor  exile !' 

'Oh!'  exclaimed  Nicole,  '  who  can 
you  be,  good  Heaven !  that  you  should 
know  so  much.' 

4 1  know,  in  short,  that  he  loved  you, 
eold  your  jewels  and  reduced  you  to  a 
state  of  beggary — I  know  that  you  love 
him  — or  say  so  at  least,  and  that  as 
love  is  the  source  of  every  blessing,  you 
ought  to  be  the  happiest  woman  in  the 
world.' 

Oliva  held  down  her  head,  leaned  her 
forehead  on  her  hand,  and  between  the 
fingers  of  that  hand  trickled  two  tears, 
liquid  pearls,  more  precious  perhaps 
than  even  those  of  which  her  bracelets 
were  composed,  but  which  no  one, 
alas!  would  have  purchased  of  Beausire. 

4  And  this  woman,  once  so  proud,  this 
happy  woman,'  said  she,  4  you  have  this 
evening  purchased  for  fifty  miserable 
louis  !' 

4  Oh !  it  is  too  little,  madnm,  1  well 
know  that,'  said  the  unknown,  with  that 
exquisite  grace  and  that  perfect  cour- 
tesy which  never  leaves  the  gentleman, 
even  when  addressing  the  lowest  class 
of  courtezans. 


4  Oh  !  it  is  much  too  dear,  sir,  and  on 
the  contrary,  it  strangely  surprised  me, 
I  can  assure  you,  that  such  a  woman  as 
I  am  could  still  be  worth  so  much  as 
fifty  louis.' 

4  You  are  worth  much  more  thao 
that,  and  I  will  prove  it  to  you.  Oh  ! 
do  not  reply,  for  you  do  not  understand 
me  ;  and  besides/  added  the  unknown, 
leaning  towards  her  : 

4  And  besides  ?'  • 

4  And  besides,  at  this  moment,  I  need 
all  my  observation.' 

4  Then,  I  must  bq  silent.' 

'  No ;   on  the  contrary,  speak  to  me.' 

4  Arid  of  what?' 

4  Oh  !  of  any  thing  you  please,  good 
heaven!  Talk  of  the  merest  trifles 
upon  earth,  it  matters  not,  provided 
we  appear  in  earnest  conversation.' 

•  Well,  be  it  so  ;  but  you  are  a  most 
singular  man.' 

'  Take  my  arm,  and  let  us  walk 
about.' 

And  they  walked  through  the  various 
groups,  she  showing  her  fine  and  well- 
turned  figure,  and  giving  to  her  ele- 
gantly-shaped head,  even  beneath  her 
hood,  and  to  her  flexible  neck,  even  un- 
der her  domino,  movements  which 
every  connoisseur  gazed  at  with  envy; 
for,  at  the  opera  ball,  in  those  days  of 
gallant  prowess,  the  passer-by  followed 
the  movements  of  an  elegant  woman 
with  as  much  curiosity  as  in  our  days 
the  amateurs  of  horse-flesh  follow  the 
paces  of  a  well-trained  and  beautiful 
steed. 

Oliva,  after  some  minutes,  ventured 
to  ask  a  question. 

4  Silence  !'  said  the  unknown,'  4or  if 
you  will,  say  any  thing  you  please  ;  but 
do  not  compel  me  to  reply.  Only,  when 
you  are  speaking,  disguise  your  voice, 
hold  your  head  erect,  and  scratch  your 
neck  with  your  fan.' 

She  obeyed. 

At  that  moment  our  two  masks  pass- 
ed among  a  highly  perfumed  group,  in 
the  centre  of  which  was  a  man  of  ele- 
gant figure,  of  a  deportment  easy  and 
free,  who  was  speaking  to  three  com- 
panions, who  appeared  to  be  listening 
respectfully. 

4  Who,  then,  is  that  young-man  I'  in- 
quired Oliva.  4  Oh  !  what  a  charming 
pearl  grey  domino.' 

4  That  is  the  Count  d'Artois,'  replied 
the  unknown, 4  but  do  not  ask  me  another 
question,  I  beg  of  you.' 

At  the  moment  when  Oliva,  perfect- 
ly astounded  at  the  high  sounding  name 
which  the  blue  domino  had  just  pro- 


120 


THE  QUEEN'S  NECKLACE;  OR,  THE 


nounced,  stepped  on  one  side  that  she 
might  the  better  observe,  and  held  her 
head  erect,  in  conformity  with  the  sev- 
eral times  reiterated  recommendation 
of  her  companion,  two  other  dominos, 
separating  themselves  from  a  chattering 
and  noisy  group  took  refuge  under  the 
boxes,  in  a  place  where  there  were  no 
benches. 

•  Lean  against  this    pillar,  Countess,' 
said  a   voice  in  a  half  whisper,    which 
appeared  to  attract  tEe  attention  of  the 
blue  domino. 

And  almost   at   the  same    moment  a 
tall  figure  in  an  orange  colored  domino, 
whose  bold  manners  rather  evinced  the 
useful  man  than  the  agreeable  courtier, 
pressed  through  the  crowd,  came  up  to 
*  the  blue  domino  and  whispered  : 
•'Tishe.' 

•  'Tis    well,'    replied    the    latter   and 
with  a  gesture  at   once   dismissed   the 
orange  domino. 

•  Listen  to   me,'  said   he,  whispering 
to  Oliva,  '  my  dear   little  friend,  we  are 
going  to  amuse  ourselves.' 

'  I  am  glad  of  it,'  she  replied,  '  for 
you  have  twice  made  me  sad,  the  first 
time  in  sending  away  Beausire,  who  al- 
ways makes  me  laugh,  and  the  second 
in  talking  to  me  of  Gilbert  who  always 
made  me  weep.' 

'  I  will  be  both  Gilbert  and  Be.ausire 
to  you,'  gravely  said  the  blue  domino. 

'Oh!'  sighed  Nicole. 

'  I  do  not  ask  you  to  love  me  ;  under- 
stand that  perfectly  :  I  ask  you  to  en- 
joy life,  in  the  way  that  I  shall  present 
it  to  you :  that  is  to  say  in  the  fulfil- 
ment of  all  your  fancies,  provided  that 
from  time  to  time  you  shall  subscribe 
to  mine.  Now,  here  is  one  I  have.' 

4 And  what  is  it?' 

'  The  black  domino  whom  you  see 
here,  is  a  German  friend  of  mine.' 

'Ah!' 

'  A  perfidious  fellow  who  refused  to 
accompany  me  to  the  ball  under  the 
pretext  that  he  had  a  head-ache.' 

'  And  to  whom  of  course  you  said  you 
would  not  come.' 

'  Precisely.' 

'  He  has  a  woman  with  him  ?' 

'Yes.' 

«  And  who  is  she  ?' 

•  I  do  not  know  her.     We  will  draw 
near  them,  shall  we  not  ?    We  will  pre- 
tend  that  you   are  a  German    woman  ; 
you  must  not  open  your  mouth  for  fear 
that  he  should  recognize   you  by  your 
accent  for  a  pure  Parisian.' 

'  Very  well,  and  you  will  mystify 
him.' 


'  Oh  !  I  will  answer  for  that.  •  Now 
begin  by  pointing  him  out  to  me  with 
the  end  of  your  fan.' 

'In  this  way.' 

'  Yes,  that's  very  weh ;  now  whisper 
in  my  ear.' 

Oliva  obeyed  with  a  docility  and 
intelligence  that  delighted  her  com- 
panion. 

The  black  domino,  the  object  of  this 
attack,  was  standing  with  his  back  to- 
ward the  centre  of  the  ball-room  :  he 
was  conversing  with  the  lady  who  ac- 
companied him.  The  latter,  whose 
eyes  sparkled  through*  her  mask,  had 
observed  Oliva's  gesture. 

'  See  now,  Monseigneur,'  said  she  in 
a  whisper,  « there  are  two  masks  who 
are  observing  us.' 

'  Oh  !  fear  nothing,  Countess  ;  it  is 
impossible  that  any  one  should  recog- 
nize us.  Allow  me,  since  here  we  are 
on  the  road  to  perdition, — allow  me  to 
repeat  to  you  that  there  never  was  so 
enchanting  a  figure  as  yours — never 
glance  so  burning ;  permit  me  to  tell 
you ' 

'  Every  thing  that  may  be  told  under 
a  mask.' 

'  No,  Countess ;  every  thing  that  IB 
said  under ' 

'  Do  not  finish  the  sentence,  or  you 
would  damn  yourself.  And  besides,  a 
greater  danger  still,  our  two  spies  would 
hear  it.' 

'  Two  spies !'  cried  the  Cardinal, 
somewhat  agitated. 

'  Yes  ;  they  appear  to  have  made  up 
their  minds;  they  are  approaching.' 

•  Take  care  to  disguise  your  voice 
completely,  Countess,  should  they  make 
you  speak.' 

'  And  you,  yours,  Monseigneur.' 

Oliva  and  the  blue  domino  had  by  this 
time  drawn  near. 

The  latter,  addressing  the  Cardinal, 

'  Mask,'  said  he. 

And  he  bent  down  to  Oliva's  ear, 
who  made  him  an  affirmative  sign. 

'  What  do  you  want  with  me  ?'  in- 
quired the  Cardinal,  disguising  his 
voice. 

'  The  lady  who  accompanies  me,'  re- 
plied the  blue  domino,  '  Hesires  me  to 
ask  you  several  questions.' 

'  Then,  do  it  quickly,'  said  M.  de 
Rohan. 

'  Arid  let  them  be  the  most  indiscreet 
ones  possible,'  added  Madame  de  La 
Mothe  in  a  soft  tone. 

'  So  indiscreet,'  replied  the  blue  do- 
mino, '  that  you  shall  not  hear  one  of 
them,  inquisitive  one.' 


MYSTERIES  OF  THE  COURT  OF  LOUIS  XVI. 


127 


And  he  again  leaned  towards  Oliva, 
who  continued  the  same  sign. 

Then  the  unknown,  in  the  purest 
possible  German,  addressed  the  follow- 
ing question  to  the  Cardinal  : 

1  Monseigueur,  are  you  in  love  with 
the  lady  who  accompanies  you  ?' 

The  Cardinal  shuddered. 

'  Did  you  not  say  Monseigneur  V  in- 
quired he. 

'  Yes,  Monseigneur.' 

•  You  are  mistaken,  then,  and  I  am 
not  the  person  you  imagine.' 

'  Oh  !  there  can  be  little  doubt  of  it, 
Cardinal ;  do  not  deny  it ;  that  is  use- 
less. And,  even  if  I  did  not  know  you 
the  lady /whom  I  serve  as  cavalier  per- 
fectly recognizes  you.' 

He  leaned  towards  Oliva,  saying  in 
a  whisper. 

•  Make    an     affirmative    sign ;      and 
make  that  sign  every  time  I  press  your 
arm.' 

She  made  the  sign. 

1  You  astonish  me,'  replied  the  Car- 
dinal, completely  thrown  out ;  '  who  is 
the  lady  who  accompanies  you  ?' 

'  Oh !  Monseigneur,  I  thought  you 
had  already  recognized  her,  She  at 
once  guessed  who  you  were.  But  it  is 
true  that  jealousy ' 

1  Madam  is  jealous  of  me  !'  cried  the 
Cardinal, 

'We  do  not  say  that,'  said  the  un- 
known with  some  degree  of  haughti- 
ness.' 

'What  are  they  saying  to  you?' 
eagerly  inquired  Madame  de  La  Mothe, 
whom  this  dialogue  in  German,  that  is 
to  say  wholly  unintelligible  to  her,  an- 
noyed in  the  highest  degree. 

'Nothing,  nothing.' 

Madame  de  La  Mothe  stamped  with 
impatience. 

'  Madam,\then  said  the  Cardinal  to 
Oliva,  '  one  word  from  you,  and  I  pro- 
mise with  that  one  word  to  guess  your 
name.' 

M.  de  Rohan  had  also  spoken  in  Ger- 
man,  Oliva  did  not  comprehend  a  word, 
and  leaned  towards  the  blue  domino. 

4 1  coujure  you,  madam,'  cried  the 
latter,  'do  not  utter  a  single  word.' 

This  mystery  excited  the  curiosity  of 
the  Cardinal ;  and  he  added  : 

•  What  not  one  single  word   in  Ger- 
man ;  that  would  not  in  any  way ' 

The  blue  domino  who  feigned  to  have 
received  the  orders  of  Olwa,  immediate- 
ly replied. 

•  Monsieur    le    Cardinal,   these    are 
the    lady's  own    words.      '  He   whose 
thought  is  not  always  on  the  watch,  he 


whose  imagination  cannot  perpetually 
bring  before  his  eyes  the  features  of 
the  beloved  object,  does  not  really  love; 
and  he  would  err  in  saying  that  he  did.' 

The  Cardinal  appeared  struck  with 
the  sense  of  these  words.  His  whole 
attitude  expressed,  in  the  highest  de-  , 
gree,  surprise,  respect,  and  enthusias- 
tic devoted  ness;  then  his  arms  fell  list- 
lessly beside  him. 

'  It  is  impossible,'  murmured  he  in 
French. 

'  What  is  impossible?'  exclaimed  Ma- 
dame de  La  Mothe,  who  had  just  eager- 
ly caught  the  only  words  she  could  un- 
derstand in  the  whole  conversation. 

•  Nothing,  madam,  nothing.' 

'In  truth,  Monseigneur,  I  believe  that 
you  are  making  me  play  a  very  sorry 
part,'  said  she  angrily. 

And  she  withdrew  her  arm  from 
the  Cardinal's.  The  latter  not  only  did 
not  attempt  to  regain  it,  but  did  not  ap- 
pear to  remark  it,  so  earnest  was  his  at- 
tention to  the  German  lady. 

'  Madam,'  said  he  to  the  latter,  who 
remained  stiff  and  motionless  behind 
her  satin  barrier,  '  the  words  which 
your  companion  has  uttered  in  your 
name,  are  German  verses  which  I  have 
read  in  a  house  that  is,  perhaps,  known 
to  you.' 

The  unknown  pressed  Oliva's  arm. 

'  Yes,'  said  she,  by  an  affirmative  nod. 

The  Cardinal  trembled. 

'  That  house,'  said  he  hesitatingly, 
'  is  it  not  called  Schoenbrunn?' 

'  Yes,'  nodded  Oliva. 

They  were  traced  upon  a  cherry-tree 
table,  with  a  golden  needle,  and  by  an 
august  hand.' 

'  Yes,'  nodded  Oliva. 

The  Cardinal  paused.  His  whole 
frame  seemed  to  be  disorgani/.ed.  He 
staggered  and  stretched  forth  his  hand, 
in  search  of  something  to  support  him. 

Madame  de  La  Mothe  was  witching 
at  the  distance  of  two  paces,  the  issue 
of  this  strange  scene. 

The  Cardinal's  hand  fell  mechanically 
upon  the  arm  of  the  blue  domino. 

•  And  this,'  said  he,  '  is  the  conclusion 
of  the  verses.1 

•  But  he  who  every  where  sees  the 
beloved  object,   who  divines   her   pre 
sence  by  a  flower,  a  perfume,  even  un- 
der  the    most    impenetrable  veils,    he 
needs  not  the  use  of  words,  his  voice  is 
in   his   heart — to   him    it   suffices  that 
another  heart  should  understand  him, 
in  order  that  he  should  be  hnppy.' 

'Ah!  how  is  this;  why,  they  are 
speaking  German  here,'  suddenly  cried 


THE  QUEEN'S  NECKLACE;  OR,  THE 


t       .      .      f 
ung,  joyous  voice,   issuing  from  a 

group  which  had  just  surrounded  the 
Cardinal.  •  Let  us  know  something  of 
it;  you  speak  the  German,  do  you 
not,  marshal?' 

'No,  Monseigneur.' 

'  But  you,  Charny  ?' 

'  Oh  !  yes,  your  highness.' 

At  this  moment  the  orchestra  burst 
forth  with  a  noisy  prelude,  and  the  dust 
from  the  floor,  together  with  the  hair- 
powder  of  those  hurrying  to  take  their 
places  in  the  dance,  ascended  as  high 
as  the  chandeliers  which  gilded  this 
sudden  mist  with  amber  and  rosy-co- 
lored tints. 

In  the  hurried  movement  made  by 
the  masks,  some  ran  against  the  blue 
domino. 

'  Take  care,  gentlemen,'  said  he  in  a 
tone  of  authority. 

•  Sir,'  replied  the  prince,  who  conti- 
nued masked,  '  you  must  see  that  we 
were  pushed  against  you.     Excuse  us, 
ladies.' 

'  Let  us  go,  let  us  go.  Monseigneur,' 
said  Madame  de  La  Mothe  in  a  whis- 
per. 

At  that  moment  Oliva's  hood  was 
clutched  and  drawn  back  by  an  invisible 
hand, — her  mask  being  untied,  fell  off; 
her  features  were  visible  for  a  second  in 
the  penumbra  of  the  entablature  formed 
by  the  first  gallery  above  the  pit. 

The  blue  domino  uttered  a  cry  of 
affected  anxiety;  Oliva  a  cry  of  real 
alarm. 

Three  or  four  cries  of  surprise  re- 
replied  to  this  double  exclamation. 

The  Cardinal  almost  fainted.  Had 
he  fallen  at  that  moment  it  would  have 
been  upon  his  knees.  Madame  de  La 
Mothe  supported  him. 

A  throng  of  masks,  carried  away  by 
the  current  had  separated  the  Count  d' 
Artois  from  the  Cardinal  and  Madame 
de  La  Mothe. 

The  blue  domino,  who,  rapid  as  light- 
ning had  replaced  Oliva's  hood  and  had 
tied  on  her  mask,  approached  the  Car- 
dinal and  pressing  his  hand,  said, 

4  This,  sir,  is  an  irreparable  misfor- 
tune ;  you  see,  sir,  that  the  honor  of 
this  lady  is  at  your  mercy.1 

'  Oh !  sir,  sir,'  murmured  Piince 
Louis  bowing. 

And  he  pressed  a  handkerchief  with 
his  trembling  hand  to  his  forehead 
which  was  streaming  with  prespiration. 

'  And  now  let  us  be  gone  quickly,' 
said  the  blue  domino  to  Oliva. 

And  they  disappeared. 

•  I  now  know  what  it  was  the  Cardi- 


* 

nal  believed  to  be  impossible,'  suid  Ma- 
dame de  La  Mothe  to  herself.  »  He  be- 
lieved that  woman  to  be  the  queen,  and 
this  is  the  effect  which  that  resemblance 
has  produced  upon  him.  Good;  another 
observation  to  be  retained.' 

'  Would  you  wish  that  we  should 
leave  the  ball,  Countess,'  said  M.  de 
Rohan,  in  a  feeble  tone. 

'  Just  as  it  pleases  you,  Monseigneur,' 
replied  Jeanne  tranquilly. 

'  I  do  not  see  there  is  much  interest 
in  it,  do  you  think  there  is  ?' 

'  Oh !  no,  I  see  HO  interest  in  it,' 
now.' 

And  they  with  difficulty  obtained  a 
passage  through  the  chattering  groups. 
The  Cardinal,  who  was  tall,  turned  his 
head  in  every  direction  endeavoring  to 
catch  a  glimpse  of  the  vision  which  had 
disappeared. 

But  from  that  moment,  dominos,  blue, 
red,  yellow,  green  and  grey  whirled  be- 
fore his  eyes  amid  the  luminous  vapor, 
confounding  their  various  shades  like 
colors  in  a  prism.  At  a  distance  every 
thing  was  blue  to  the  vision  of  the  poor 
Prince ;  but  nothing  near  him  was  of 
that  hoe. 

It  was  in  this  state  thnt  he  reached 
the  carriage  which  was  waiting  for  him 
and  his  companion. 

The  carriage  had  been  driven  on  for 
five  minutes  and  the  prelate  had  not 
addressed  a  single  word  to  Jeanne. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 


BUT  Madame  de  La  Mothe  was  not 
so  forgetful  of  herself,  and  she  aroused 
the  Cardinal  from  his  neverie. 

'  Where  is  this  carriage  taking  me  ?' 
she  inquired. 

'Countess,'  said  the  Cardinal,  'fear 
nothing  ;  this  carriage  brought  you  fram 
your  house,  and  it  is  now  taking  you 
back  again.' 

'To  my  house  ! — in  the  faubourg  !' 

'  Yes,  Countess — a  small  horse,  in- 
deed, to  contain  so  many  charms.' 

Saying  these  words,  the  prince  took 
one  of  Jeanne's  hands  and  warmed  it 
with  a  gallant  kiss. 

The  carriage  stopped  before  the 
small  house  in  which  so  many  charms 
were  about  to  endeavor  to  find  room. 

Jeanne  sprang  lightly  out  of  the  car- 
riage ;  the  Cardinal  prepared  to  imi- 
tate her. 


MYSTERIES  OK  THE  COl/RT  OK   LOIJIS   XVI. 


1  It  is  not  worth  the  trouble,  Mon- 
seigneur,' whispered  the  female  demon 
to  him. 

'  How,  Countess,  not  worth  the  trou- 
ble to  spend  a  few  hours  with  you !' 

'  And  sleep,  Monseigneur,'  said 
Jeanne. 

'  I  think  you  will  find  that  there  are 
several  sleeping-rooms  in  your  house, 
Countess.' 

•  Yes,  for  me  ;  but  for  you ' 

'  And  why  not  ?' 

'  Not  yet,'  said  ahe,  with  an  air  at 
once  so  gracious  and  exciting,  that  the 
refusal  was  equivalent  to  a  promise. 

'  Adieu,  then,'  replied  the  Cardinal, 
BO  completely  captivated,  that  he  for 
the  moment  forgot  the  whole  scene  at 
the  ball. 

•  Till  we  meet  again,   Monseigneur.' 
4  Indeed,  'tis  better  thus,'  said  he,  as 

the  carriage  drove  off. 

Jeanne  entered  her  new  house  a- 
lon«. 

Six  lackies,  whose  soft  slumbers  had 
been  disturbed  by  the  loud  rapping  of 
the  Cardinal's  running  footman,  had 
drawn  themselves  up  in  line  in  the  ves- 
tibule. 

Jeanne  looked  at  them  all  with  that 
air  of  calm  superiority  which  fortune 
does  not  impart  to  all  the  rich. 

'  And  the  waiting  women  ?'  inquired 
the  Countess. 

One  of  the  footmen  answered  re- 
spectfully— 

1  There  are  two  women,  madame,  in 
attendance  in  your  bed-chamber,'  said 
he. 

'Call  them.' 

The  footman  obeyed,  and  two  wo- 
men entered  the  room  a  few  minutes 
afterwards. 

'  Where  do  you  usually  sleep  ?'  in- 
quired Jeanne. 

'  Why,  we  have  no  fixed  plnce  as 
yet,'  replied  the  eldest;  'we  will  sleep 
wherever  it  will  suit  madame.' 

'The  keys  of  the  apartments  ?' 

'  Here  they  are,  madam.' 

'  Very  well ;  for  to-night  you  will 
Bleep  out  of  the  house.' 

The  women  looked  at  their  mistress 
with  some  surprise. 

4  You  have  some  lodging-place,  I  sup- 
pose?' 

»  Undoubtedly,  madam  :  but  it  is  ra- 
ther Into  :  however,  if  you  desire  to  be 
alone-'-' 

'These  men  will  accompany  you,' 
added  the  Countess,  dismissing  the  six 
footmen,  who  were  still  better  pleased 
tbnc  the  waiting  womon. 

17 


'And — when  slwll.WH  return  ?'  timid 
ly  asked  one  of  tln-m. 

'To  morrow,  at  twelve  o'clock." 

The  six  footmen  and  the  two  women 
looked  at  each  other  for  a  moment,  then 
being  daunted  by  the  imperious  eye  of 
Jeanne,  they  retired  towards  the  door. 

Jeanne  accompanied  them,  let  them 
out  and  before  Closing  the  door  upon 
them, 

'  Is  there  any  one  still  remaining  in 
the  house  ?'  said  sho. 

'  Good  Heaven  !  no.  Madam  ;  there 
will  not  be  a  soul.  It  is  impossible  you 
cau  remain  here  all  alone  :  one  of  the 
women,  at  least,  should  sit  up  in  the  ser- 
vant's hall,  or  in  the  office,  or  some- 
where, but  some  one  should  set  up.' 

4 1  have  no  need  of  any  one.' 

'The  house  might  take  (ire.  or  you. 
Madam,  might  be  taken  ill.' 

'  Good  night — go  all  of  you.' 

She  drew  out  her  purse. 

'  And  there  is  something'  to  spend  n* 
entrance  money  to  my  service.' 

A  joyous  murmur,  the  thanks  of  ser-' 
vants  used  to  wait  on  people  of  dis- 
tinction, was  the  only  answer,  the  last 
word  of  the  footmen.  They  all  disap- 
peared bowing  to  the  ground. 

Jeanne  listened  to  them  from  behind 
the  door ;  they  all  agreed  that,  fate  had. 
bestowed  upon  them  a  most  fantastical 
mistress. 

When  the  noise  of  their  voices  and 
steps  became  faint  in  the  distance. 
Jeanne  fastened  the  bolts,  and  exclaim- 
ed with  a  triumphant  air, 

'  Alone  !  I  am  alone,  here,  in  my 
own  house  !' 

She  then  took  a  three  branch  candle- 
stick apd  lighted  it  by  the  wax  candles 
burning  in  the  vestibule,  and  also  fast- 
ened the  bolts  of  the  massive  door  of 
the  ante-chamber. 

Then  commenced  a  mute  and  extra- 
ordinary scene  which  would  have  high- 
ly interested  one  of  those  nocturnal 
spectators  whom  the  fiction  of  poets 
have  conducted  above  the  roofs  of 
houses  and  of  palaces. 

Jeanne  was  visiting  her  estates  ;  she 
admired,  room  by  room,  the  whole  of 
this  house,  the  smallest  details  of  which 
had,  in  her  eyes,  acquired  an  immense 
value,  since  the  egotism  of  the  proprie- 
tor had  laken  the  place  of  the  curiosity 
of  the  mere  visitor. 

The  ground  floor,  beautifully  waio- 
scotted,  contained  a  bathing  room,  the 
servants  office,  the  dining-room,  three 
saloons  and  two  small  receiving  roonu. 

The  furniture  of  this  vast  apartment 


130 


THE  QUEEN'S  NECKLACE;  OR,  THE 


was  not  as  rich  as  that  of  Ln  Guimard, 
or  ns  fnnciful  as  that  of  the  friends  of 
M.  de  Soubise,  but  it  evinced  the  mag- 
nifience  of  its  lordly  owner;  it  was  not 
new  The  house  would  have  been  less 
pleasing  in  Jeanne's  eyes  had  it  been 
newly  furnished  and  expressly  for  her. 
All  these  antique  inches,  disdained  by 
ladies  of  fashion  ;  those  marvellous  ar- 
ticles in  sculptured  ebony,  those  lustres 
with  crystal  girandoles,  whose  gilded 
branches  wer#>  surrounded  by  leaves, 
from  the  centre  of  which  issued  wax 


brilliant     Tillies : 
pieces   of 


lights,  roses  beneath 
those  gothic  clocks,  master 
chasing  and  enamel ;  those  embroider- 
ed screens  with  Chinese  figures,  those 
enormous  Japan  vases  filled  with  ran; 
flowers,  those  panels  above  the  doors 
painted  by  Boucher  or  Watteau,  threw 
the  new  proprietress  into  indescribable 
ecstacies. 

Here,  on  a  mantel-piece,  two  gilded 
Tritons  supported  branches  of  coral, 
from  which  were  suspended,  like  fruit, 
numerous  articles  of  jewellery  of  the 
fantastic  fashion  of  that  time.  Farther 
off,  on  a  small  table  of  gilded  wood  with 


bed-room,  quickly  undressed  herself, 
and  slipped  on  a  dressing-gown  of  wad- 
ded silk. 

Shivering,  half  naked  beneath  the 
silk  which  caressed  her  bosom  and  her 
waiar,  she  hastily  ascended  the  stairs, 
her  candlestick  in  her  bund. 

Familiarized  wit  ii  the  solitude,  hav- 
ing no  longer  to  fear  bring  seen  even 
by  a  servant,  she  bounded  from  room 
to  room,  allowing  her  fine  rurnbric  un- 
der-dress to  float,  at  liberty  in  the  wind 
which  blew  in  under  the  door:-;. 

And  whenever,  in  opening  a  wani- 
robe,  she  raised  her  arm,  when  the 
dreftsiug-gown  on  opening  showed  the 
while  rotundity  of  her  shoulders-,  gilded 
by  such  a  flood  of  light  'is  is  familiar  in 
the  paintings  of  Ruben-,  invisible  spi- 
rits concealed  beneaili  the  draperies, 
or  sheltered  behind  the  painted  panels, 
must  have  been  rejoiced  at.  having  so 
lovely  and  HO  charming  an  hostess. 

At  length  after  coursing  nil  over  the 
house,  fatigued,  panting,  her  wax  lights 
three-fourths  consume*!.  >he  returned 
to  her  bed-chamber,  the  draperies  of 
which  were  of  blue  satin,  embroidered 


white  marble  top,  an  enormous  sea- i  with  large  fantastic  flowers, 
green  china  elephant,  from  whose  ears !  She  had  seen  all,  counted  all,  enjoy - 
hung  sapphire  drops,  supported  a  cas-  ed  the  delight  of  gazing  at  and  touching 
tie  full  of  smelling-bottles  and  choice  every  thing,  the  only  tiling  she  had  left 
perfumes.  to  admire  w;fs  herself. 


Elegant  books,  richly  bound  and  gilt, 
and  beautifully  illustrated,  were  placed 
on  rosewood  stands,  the  corners  of 
which  were  ornamented  with  golden 
arabesques. 

A  complete  suite  of  furniture,  cover- 
ed with  Gobelins  tapestry,  a  master- 
piece of  patience,  and  which  had  cost 
one  hundred  thousand  livi-es  at  the  ma- 
nufactory, filled  ii  small  saloon,  grey 
and  gold,  each  panel  of  which  was  an 
oblong  canvas,  painted  by  Vernet  or  by 
Greuze.  The  study  was  filled  with  the 
best  portraits  by  Chardin,  and  the  finest 
terrn-cottas  of  Clodion.  «. 

Every  thing  in  the  house  gave  evi- 
dence, not  of  the  haste  of  some  rich  up- 
start, who  had  been  eager  to  satisfy  his 
own  fancy  or  that  of  his  mistress^  but 
of  the  long  and  patient  research  of  the 
enlightened  rich,  who  heap  upon  the 
treasures  of  their  forefathers,  treasures 
which  they  m^y  leave  to  their  own 
children. 

Jeanne  first  looked  at  the  whole  col- 
lection, and  then  at  each  article  sepa- 
rately, examining  their  minutest  details. 

Bui  as  her  U'.'iuino  inconvenienced 
her,  ;md  as  her  whalebone,  boddice 
pre--->-d  too  close!;.,  Hhe  went  into  her 


She  placed  tb«  light  on  ;t  stand  of 
Sevres  China  with  a  raised  golden  bor- 
der ;  and  suddenly  her  eyes  fell  on 
a  marble  statue,  of  Kndymiou,  a  vo- 
luptuous figure,  executed  by  Bouchar- 
don,  represented  as  falling  intoxicated 
with  love  upon  a  block  of  porphyry. 

Jeanne  closed  the  door  of  her  room 
and  let  down  the  tapestry  that  covered 
it,  drew  the  thick  window  curtains, 
and  returned  to  the  statue  devouring 
with  her  looks  the  beautiful  lover  of 
D'ana,  who  had  just  given  him  a  last 
kiss  as  she  ascended  toward  the  sky. 

The  red  fire  reduced  to  embers  cast 
a  genial  warmth  throughout  the  room, 
in  which  all  seemed  living  excepting 
pleasure. 

t  Jeanne  felt  her  feet  sink  gently  into 
the  soft  long  wool  of  the  carpet;  her 
limbs  trembled  :md  bent  beneath  her,  a 
languor  which  was  not  that  of  either  fa- 
tigue or  drowsiness  pervaded  all  her 
-.•n-es  and  half  closed  her  eye-lids, 
while  a  heat  which  \\asno!  that  pro- 
ceeding from  the  hearth  ascended  from 
her  feet  to  her  heart  filling  her  veins 
with  living  electricity. 

In  this  moment  of  extraordinary  sen- 
sations, Jeanne  caught  a  glimpse  of  her 


MifSTERIES  OF  THE  COURT  OF  LOUIS  XVI. 


131 


own  ftice  reflected  from  a  pier-glass 
placed  behind  the*  statue  of  Endymion. 
ller  gown  had  slipped  from  her  shoul- 
ders on  to  the  carpet.  The  fine  cam- 
bric, dragged  down  by  the  heavier  SI!K 
had  fallen  half  way  .tlown  her  white 
and  rounded  arms. 

Two  jet  black  eyes,  soft  from  languor, 
but  sparkling  witli  animation,  Jeanne'H 
own  eyes  struck  Jeanne  to  the  very 
heart.  She  thought  herself  handsome, 
she  felt  herself  young  and  ardent;  she 
could  not  holp  avowing  that  of  till  that 
surrounded  her,  there  was  nothing,  no 
not  even  Dianna  herself,  so  worthy  of 
being  beloved.  She  approached  the 
marble  to  see  if  Endymion  would  not 
start  forth  into  life  and  disdain  the 
Goddess  for  the  mortal. 

At  length  her  eyes  became  more  lan- 
guid, her  head  rolled  upon  her  chest 
with  a  sigh,  and  Jeanne  fell  sleeping, 
inanimate  upon  the  bed,  the  curtains  of 
which  waved  in  graceful  folds  above 
her  head. 

Her  taper  emitted  a  last  ray  of  light 
amid  a  sheet  of  liquid  wax,  then  ex- 
haled its  last  perfume  with  ita  last 
npurk. 


CHAPTER   XXV. 

M.  DE  BKADSIRE'S  ACADEMY. 

• 

BEAUSIRE  had  followed  the  advice  of 
the  blue  domino  to  the  very  letter ;  he 
had  repaired  at  once  to  the  assembly, 
which  was  called  his  academy. 

The  worthy  friend  of  Oliva,  stimu- 
lated by  *the  enormous  figure  of  two 
millions,  was  greatly  apprehensive  with 
regard  to  that  description  of  exclusion 
which  his  colleagues  had  evinced  in  not 
giving  him  notice  of  such  an  advantage- 
ous transaction. 

He  well  knew  that  people  belonging 
to  the  academy  did  not  always  pride 
themselves  on  being  over  scrupulous, 
and  that  was  some  reason  for  his  has- 
tening there,  (he  absent  being  always 
in  the  wroni:,  \\hen  absent  from  mere 
chance,  and  still  more  in  the  wrong 
when  that  absence  can  be  turned  to 
their  disadvani: 

Beausire  had  obtained  among  the  as- 
sociate memliers  of  tin-  Academy,  the 
reputation  of  hcinjr  ;i  man  of  furious 
courage.  This  \v;i>  neither  astonishing 
nor  difficult.  Beausiro  had  been  an  ex- 
empt, an  officer  of  police;  he  had 
worn  an  uniform  and  knew  how  to 


place  one  hand  upon  his  hip  and  the 
other  on  the  hilt  of  his  sword.  It  was 
his  habit,  "on  the  least  cross  word  being 
uttered,  to  strike  the  crown  of  his  hat 
so  that  it  nearly  covered  his  eyes,  and 
look  furiously  war-like.  'All  these  lit- 
tle gestures,  to  people  who  were  but 
moderately  brave,  were  absolutely  ap- 
palling, and  aboye  all  when  such  t?oplo 
have  to  dread  the  noise  occasioned  by 
a  duej,  or  the  curiosity  of  the  ministers 
of  justice.  Beausire  therefore  calculated 
on  revenging  himself  for  the  contempt 
with  which  he  had  been  treated,  by  ter- 
rifying tfie  members  of  the  gambling 
house  in  the  rue  du  Pot  du  fer. 

It  is  a  tolerably  good  step  from  the 
Porte  Saint  Mnrtin  to  the  church  Saint 
Sulpice  ;  but  Boiiufire  was  rich;  he 
threw  himself  into  a  hackney-coach  and 
promised  the  driver  fifty  sous,  that  is 
to  say  one  livre  more  than  his  fare.  - 
The  night  fare  in  those  days  being  what 
the  day  fare  is  in  ours. 

Tim  horses  trotted  oft'  briskly.  Beau- 
sire  assumed  a  rather  furious  air,  and 
as  he  had  no  hat.  since  he  wore  a  do- 
mino, and  no  sword,  he  gave  his  fea- 
tures an  expression  of  ferocity  suffi- 
ciently alarming. 

His  entrance    into  the  academy  pro 
duced  a  certain  degree  of  sensation. 

There  were  assembled  in  the  first 
saloon,  a  handsome  saloon  all  gray,  with 
lustres  and  several  card  tables,  some 
twenty  gamblers  who  were  drinking 
beer,  or  sirops  and  water,  smiling  rath- 
er equivocally  at  seven  or  eight  women, 
furiously  rouged,  who  were  looking 
over  the  cards. 

They  were  playing  at  faro  at  th«  prin- 
cipal table  the;  stakes  were  but  meagre, 
and  the  animation  of  the  parties  in  pro- 
portion to  their  stakes. 

On  the  arrival  of  the  black  domino 
who  rumpled  his  hood  by  sticking  his 
arms  a  kimbo  beneath  his  domino,  some 
of  the  women  began  to  titter,  half  in 
raillery,  half  enticingly  :  M.  Beausire 
was  a  sort  of  beau,  and  the  ladies  nev- 
er ill  treated  him. 

i  le.  however,  advunced  into  the  room 
as  if  he  had  neither  heard  or  seen  any 
thing,  and  having  reached  the  table  he 
awaited  in  silence  for  some  remark  on 
his  ill  humor. 

One  of  the  players,  a  sort  of  old 
equivocal  financier  whose  features  were 
not.  deficient  in  good  nature,  was  the 
first  to  address  Ueausire. 

'  Good  lack,  chevalier,'  said  the  wor- 
thy man,  •  you  have  come  from  the  ball 
with  a  mo«t  agitatod  countenance.' 


THfi 


Oft, 


V  said  the  ladies. 
Why,  dear  chevalier,'  enquired  an- 
player,    '  does   your  douiino  hurt 
jqur  head?' 

1  It  is  not  the,  domino  that  hurts  me,' 
hastily  replied  Beausire. 

•Gently,  gently,'  said  the  banker, 
who  had  just  raked  towards  him  a  doz- 
en 'u»uis,  '  the  chevalier  de  Beausire 
ha«  committed  an  infidelity  towards  us  ; 
do  you  not  see  that  he  has  baen  to  the 
qpera  ball,  and  that  somewhere  in  that 
neighborhood  he  has  been  playing  some 
keatry  stake  and  lost  it.' 

Everybody  laughed  at  or  pitied  him 
according  to  their  several  characters ; 
the  women  had  compassion  for  him. 

'  It  is  not  true  to  say  that  I  have  been 
guilty  of  infidelity  towards  my  friends,' 
replied  Beausire,  '  I  am  incapable  of  in- 
fidelity. It  is  very  well  for  certain  peo- 
ple of  my  acquaintance  \to  commit  infi- 
delity.  towards  their  friends.'  And  in 
order  to  give  more  weight  to.his  words, 
he  had  recourse  to  his  accustomed  ges- 
ture, that  of  striking  the  crown  of  his 
hat,  forgetting  for  the  moment,  that  he 
bad  not  one.  Unfortunately /or  him  he 
merely  flattened  his  silk  hood,  render- 
ing it  of  a  ridiculous  width,  and  which 
instead  of  producing  the  serious  effect 
he  had  intended,  was  altogether  ludic- 


•What  is  it  you  mean  to  say,  dear 
ejt#yaJier  ?',  enquired  two  er  three  of 
kis  partners, 

'I. know  what  I  mean  to  say,'  growl- 
ed, ^  Beausire. 

'  But, .that  is  not  enough  for  ue,'  re^ 
marked  the  good  natured  old  man. 

'It  is  not  you  that  this  concerns,'  re- 
plied Beausire  maladroitly. 

An  expressive  glance  fron  the  faro 
banker  warned  Beausire  that  his  re- 
taark  had  been  indiscreet-  For  it  was 
highly,  necessary,  in  that  place,  not  to 
djrAW  any  distinctive  line  between  those 
*fho  paid  and  those  who  pocketed  the 


B^asuVe  understood  the  glance  but 
his  blood  was  up  ;  the  pretend  edly 
Cjpwrageous  control  their  anger  with 
niort?  difficulty  than  the  really  brave 
man. 

'  I  thought  that  I  had  friends  here,' 
•aid  he. 

'  Why,    certainly,'    replied    several 


. 

Well,  tfyen,  I  was  mistaken.' 
•  And  in  what  way  !' 
'  In  this  ;  that   n    number    of  things 
are*  done  without.  me.' 

The  bunker  made  another  sign  ;  new 


from  su*b  of,  the  partners, 
as  were  present, 

'  It  suffices  that  I  know  it,,  and  t 
false  friends  shall  l>e  punished.' 

He  mechanically  endeavored  to 
the  hilt  of  his  sword,  but  having  !mV 
that  also  at  home,  his  hand  struck  upon 
his  pocket,  which  being  full  of  louis, 
yielded  a  betraying  sound. 

•Ho!  ho."   cried  two   of  the  lad{l 
4  M,  de  Beausiro- has  had  good  luck.tim 
evening.' 

'  It  seems  so/  said  the  banker,  &iw- 
doriically,  'if  he  had  lost,  he  has  not. 
lost  all ;  and  if  he  has  been  guilty  of 
infidelity  to  us,  it  i«  not  an  infidelity  that 
cannot  be  repaired.  Come,  stake  some- 
thing, chevalier.' 

'  I  thank  you,'  replied  Beausire  drily, 
'  but  since  it  is  the  fashion  for  every 
one  to  keep  what  he  has,  I  shall  keep, 
what  I  have  also.' 

'What  the  devil  do  you  mean?' 
whispered  one  of  the  players  to  hinj. 

'  We  will  have  an  explanation  pre- 
sently.' 

'  Play,  then,'  said  the  banker. 

'  Only  a  single  louis,'  said  a  lady  c»ir 
ressing  Beausire's  shoulder,  in  order  to 
get  as  near  as  possible  to  his  pocket. 

'  I  only  play  for  million*.'  said  Beau- 
sire,  boastingly^  '  and  I  cannot  really 
conceive  how  people  can  play  here  for 
paltry  louis.  Come,  gentlemen  of  the 
Pot  du  J*Vr,  when  millions  are  in  ques- 
tion, which  some  people  know  nothing 
of,  down  with  such  miserable  stakes  as 
a  poor  louis !  Play,  for  millions,  you 
that  are  millionnairesS 

Beausire  was  in  that  moment  of  exr 
citement,  when  a  man  oversteps  the 
bounds  of  common  sense — an  intoxica- 
tion more  dangerous  than  that  of  wine 
inspired  him.  Suddenly  he  received, 
from  behind  a  kick  on  the  legs,  which 
was  sufficiently  violent  to  make  him 
pause  abruptly. 

He  turned  round  and  saw  by  his  side 
a  liroad,  olive-colored  face,  hard-fea,- 
t uri'd  and  rough,  with  black  eyes  as  lu- 
minous as  burning  coals. 

To  the  gesture  of  anger  made  by 
Beausire.  this  strange  personage  replied 
by  a  very  ceremonious  bow  and  a  gaze 
long  as  a  Spauish  rapier. 

•  The  Portuguese  !'  exclaimed  Beau- 
sire,  stupefied  at  this  respectful  saluta- 
tion from  a  man  who  had' just  given 
him  ,i  kick, 

•The  Portuguese!'  repeated  the  la-. 
dies,  who  abandoned  BeauHire  to  flutter  '. 
round  the  stranger. 

Thib  P'.rtujinese  was  in  truth  the  de- 


* 


MYSTERIES 'OF  THE  COt7IlTT>F  LOUIS  XVI. 


light  of  these  ladies,  to  whom,  under 
the  pretence  of  not  speaking  fluently  in 
French,  he  often  brought  little  dainties, 
sometimes  wrapped  up  in  bank  notes  of 
fifty  or  sixty  francs. 

Boausire  knew  that  this  Portuguese 
was  one  of  the  partners.  The  Portu- 
guese always  lost  his  money  with  the 
frequenters  of  the  gambling-house.  He 
fixed  the  amount  of  his  stakes  at  a  hun- 
dred louia  per  week,  and  these  he  re- 
gularly lost. 

He  was  the  decoy  duck  of  the  socie- 
ty. While  he  allowed  himself  to  be 
plucked  of  a  hundred  golden  feathers, 
the  other  partners  plucked  the  excited 
gamblers. 

And  therefore  the  Portuguese  was 
considered  by  the  other  partners  as  the 
useful  man;  by  the  players  as  the 
agreeable  man.  Beausire  felt  towards 
him  that  tacit  consideration  which  is 
always  awarded  to  the  mysterious,  al- 
though some  degree  of  mistrust  may 
accompany  it. 

Beausire  having-  therefore  received 
the  kink  which  the  Portuguese  had 
applied  to  the  calves  of  his  legs,  remain- 
ed silent  and  sat  down. 

The  Portuguese  also  took  a  seat  at 
the  table,  placed  twenty  louis  before 
him,  and  in  twenty  stakes,  which  oc- 
cupied about  fifteen  minutes,  he  was 
eased  of  his  twenty  louis  by  six  eager 
punters,  who  for  a  moment  forgot  the 
hungry  claws  of  the  banker  and  his  as- 
sociates. 

AB  the  clock  struck  three  Beansire 
was  finishing  a  glass  of  beer. 

Two  servants  entered  the  room,  the 
banker  dropped  the  money  through  a 
hole  in  the  table,  for  the  statutes  of 
the  association  were  so  impressed  with 
confidence  towards  its  members,  that 
it  WHB  not  left  in  the  power  of  any  one 
of  them  to  handle  exclusively  the  funds 
of  the  society. 

The  money,  therefore,  remaining  at 
the  end  of  each  sitting,  fell  through  a 
small  wicket  made  in  the  table,  into  a 
drawer,  nnd  there  was  added  by  way 
of  post-scriptum  to  the  articles  of  part- 
nership, that  the  banker  should  never 
wear  long  sleeves,  and  also  that  he 
should  never  have  any  money  in  his 
pockets. 

Which  simply   meant  to  say  that  he 
interdicted   from   smuggling  some 


The  servants  brought  in  the  elotlks, 
great  coats1  and  swords  belonging  to  tb* 
players  and  members  of  the  association: 
several  of  the  more  fortunate  player* 
offered  tfereir  arms  to  the  ladies :  tlt« 
unlucky  ones,  squeezed  themselves  into 
sedan  chairs,  still  in  fashion  in  that 
quiet  quarter  of  the  town,  and  the  lights 
extinguished  in  the  gambling 
room. 

Beausire  had  also  pretended  to  wrap 
himself  up  in  his  domino,  as  if  bent  up- 
on some  long  journey,  but  he  did  t»t 
leave  the' first  story,  and  the  street;  door 
being  closed,  while  the  'hack ney-eOacb- 
es,  the  sedan  chairs  and  the  pedestrians 
disappeared,  he  returned  into  the  afc- 
loon  which  eleven  of  the  partners  bad 
also  entered. 

'At  length,'  said  Beausire,  *w»  tibtM 
have  an  explanation.' 

'  Light  your  lainp,  and  do  not  »pe4k 
so  loud,'  cried  the  Portuguese  to  hint 
in  remarkably  good  French,  who  at  th« 
same  time  lighted  a  wax  candle  placed 
upon  the  tdfble. 

Beausire  grumbled  out  a  few  worth 
to  which  no  ones  paid  attention.  Th* 
Portuguese  seated  himself  in  the  bank- 
er's place.  Some  of  the  members  ex- 
amined the  shutters,  the  curtains  and 
the  doors  to  ascertain  that  they  wet* 
carefully  closed.  They  seated  them- 
selves noiselessly  at  the  table,  their  el- 
bows on  the  grden  cloth,  and  wtth  the 
most  eager  curiosity. 

4  I  have  a  communication  to  inak«,' 
said  the  Portuguese,  '  fortunately.  I  ar- 
rived in  good  time,  for  M.  de  Beimsire 
seems  to  be  devoured  to-night  by  an  in- 
inveterate  itch  for  talking.' 

Beausire  was  about  to  break  out. 
4  Come,  now  peace,'  snid  *he  Portu- 
guese, '  we  want  to  lose  no  word*. 
You  have  uttered  some  wh^h  \ve>r# 
more  than  imprudotit ;  you  hfflrbecoiue 
acquainted  with  my  ittaas  :  that  is  all 
very  well;  you  are  a  man  of  sharp  wit, 
and  you  may  have  guessed  it :  but  it 
appears  to  me  that  a  selfish  vanity 
ought  never  to  take  the  lead  of  inter- 
est.' 

4 1  do  not  understand,'  snid  Benusir*. 
4  We  do  not  understand,'  said  the  re- 
spectable assembly. 

4 Oh  !  yes,  M.  d'e  Beiiusire  wished  t» 
prove  that  he  was  the  first  who  had 


ttventy  louis   into  his  sleeves,    and  that 
ifhe  company  reserved  to  itself  the  right 


imagined  the  nlThir.' 


What  affair  ?'  inquired  the    partie*. 
The  affair  of  the  two  millions,'  cried 

of  searching   his    pockets,  in   order  to   Beausire  with  great  emphasis, 
take  from  him  any  gold  he  might   have        •  Two  millions  !'  exclaimed  the  arao- 
slipped  into  them.  ciates. 


134 


THE  QUEEN'S  NECKLACE;  OR,  THE 


'First  of  all,'  said  the  Portuguese 
hastening  to  speak  first,  '  you  exafeger- 
ate  the  matter ;  it  is  impossible  the  af- 
fair can  amount  to  as  much  as  that ; 
and  I  will  instantly  prove  it  to  you.' 

'  There  is  uo  one  here  can  imagine 
what  you  mean,'  exclaimed  the  banker. 

'  Yes,  but  we  are,  nevertheless,  all 
ears,'  added  one  of  the  others. 

'Speak  first,'  said  Beausire. 

'  With  all  my  heart.' 

And  the  Portuguese  poured  out  an 
immense  glass  of  Orgeat,  which  he 
drank  down  very  quietly,  appearing  all 
the  time  as  cool  as  an  icicle. 

'  You  must  know,  then,'  said  he — 
'  but  I  am  not  speaking  for  M.  Beau- 
sire's  information — that  the  necklace  is 
not  worth  more  than  fifteen  hundred 
thousand  livres.1 

'  Oh !  if  the  matter  in  question  is  a 
necklace,'  said  Beausire. 

4  Yes,  sir,  is  not  that  the  affair  you 
spoke  of?' 

'  Perhaps.' 

'  See  now,  he  wishes  to  play  the 
discreet,  after  the  indiscretion  he  has 
committed.' 

And  the  Portuguese  shrugged  his 
shoulders  somewhat  contemptuously. 

'  I  see,  with  regret,  that  you  are  as- 
suming a  tone  which  displeases  me.,' 
retorted  Beausire,  with  the  fierce  look 
.of  a  cock  who  is  preparing  his  spurs. 

'  Mira!  Mira."  said  the  Portuguese, 
as  cold  as  marble,  '  when  I  have  done, 
you  may  say  any  thing  you  please  ;  I 
shall  first  say  all  I  have  to  say,  for  you 
ought  to  know  that  the  ambassadors 
will  arrive  in  eight  days.' 

'  The  business  is  getting  complicat- 
ed.' thought  the  partners,  palpitating 
with  interest.  A  necklace  ! — fifteen 
hundred  thousand  livres — an  ambassa- 
dor— wMt  does  all  this  mean  ?' 

•  I  w™explain  it  in  two  words,'  said 
the  Portuguese:  'Messrs. Boehmer and 
Bossange  have  offered  to  the  queen  a 
diamond  necklace,  worth  fifteen  hun- 
dred thousand  livres.  The  queen  re- 
fused to  purchase  it.  The  jewellers 
know  not  what  to  do  with  it,  and  keep 
it  carefully  concealed.  They  are  much 
perplexed,  for  thin  necklace  can  only  be 
purchased  by  one  of  roynl  fortune. 
Well !  I  have  discovered  the  royal  per- 
sonage whii  will  buy  this  necklace,  and 
will  drag  it  forth  from  the  iron  chest 
of  Messrs.  Boehmer  and  Bossonge.' 

'  And  that  person  is .'  said  the 

partner. 

1  Is  my  most  gracious  Sovereign  the 
Queen  of  Portugal.' 


And  the  Portuguese  looked  very  im- 
portant. 

'  We  understand  this  less  than  eTer,' 
said  the  partner. 

'  And  for  myself,'  thought  Beausire, 
'  I  do  not  comprehend  a  word  of  it.' 

'  Explain  yourself  clearly  and  at  once, 
dear  M.  Manoel,'  said  he,  '  for  private 
differences  ought  always  to  give  place 
to  matters  of  public  interest.  You  are 
the  father  of  the  idea,  this  I  acknowl- 
edge.frankly.  I  renounce  all  rights  to 
the  paternity  .but,  for  the  love  of  Hear- 
en  !  speak  out  clearly.' 

'  This  is  as  it  should  be,'  said  Don 
Maiioel,  swallowing  a  second  glass  of 
orgeat.  '  I  will  make  the  matter  clear 
as  crystal.' 

'  We  are  already  assured  that  there 
exists  a  necklace  worth  fifteen  hundred 
thousand  livres,'  said  the  banker. 

'  And  this  necklace  is  in  the  strong 
box  of  Messrs.  Boehmer  &  Bossauge, 
That  is  the  second  point,'  said  Beau- 
sire. 

'  But  Don  Manoel  has  said  that  her 
Majesty  the  Queen  of  Portugal  buys 
this  necklace.  It  is  that  which  throws 
us  all  completely  out.' 

'  And  yet  nothing  can  be  clearer,'  said  f 
the  Portuguese,  '  all  you  have  to  do  is 
to  pay  attention  to  my  words.  The 
embassy  is  for  the  moment  vacant. — 
There  is  an  interregnum  ;  the  new  Am- 
bassador, M/de  Souza,  will  arrive,  at 
the  soonest,  in  eight  dtiys.' 

'Good,'  said  Beausire. 

'  And  what  is  there  to  prevent  this 
Ambassador  who  is  anxious  to  see  Paris, 
from  arriving  and  installing  himself  he- 
fore  that  time  ?** 

The  partners  looked  at  one  another, 
their  mouths  gaping  with  wonder. 

'You  must  understand,'  said  Beausire 
eagerly,    'that  Don  Miinoel   me  .Ins  to 
say,  that  an   Ambassador,    a   real  or  fie-         & 
titioue  one  may  arrive." 

•  That  is  it  precisely,1  added  the  Por- 
tuguese.  '  If  the  Ambassador  who  shall 
present  himself  should  be  desirous  of  ob- 
taining the    necklace   for  the  queen  of        *  ' 
Portugal,  has  he  not  the  right  to  do  so.' 

•  A^m-fdlv.'  exclaimed  the  company. 
'  And   then   he    enters  into   a  treaty 

with    Mes-i».    lioehmer   &    Bosmmge. 
That's  all.' 

'  Nothing  more.' 

'Only,  that  after  having  made  the 
treiity,  it  svill  be  necessary  to  pay,'  ob-, 
served  the  faro  banker. 

» Oh !  yes  undoubtedly,'  said  the 
Portuguese. 

'  Messrs.  Boehmer  &  Bossang'  js'ould 


MYSTKRIES  OF  THE  COURT  OF  LOUIS  XVI. 


135 


not  place  the  necklace  in  the  hunda  of 
an  Ambassador,  were  he  even  a  real 
Souza,  without  having  good  security.' 

4  Oh  !  I  have  well  considered  the  se- 
curity,' observed  the  future  Ambassa- 
dor. 

•And  what  is  it?' 

'  The  embassy,  we  have  said,  is  now 
unoccupied?' 

'  Yes.' 

•  There   is  only  a  chancellor  there,  a 
•worthy   Frenchman,    who   speaks    the 
Portuguese  as  badly  as  it  is  possible,  and_ 
who  is  delighted  when   the  Portuguese' 
apeak  to  him  in   French,  because   that 
does  not  idconvenience    him,   and   de- 
lighted also  when  Frenchmen  speak  to 
him  in  Portuguese,  because  there  he   is 
brilliant.1 

'  Well?'  cried  Beausire. 

'  Well,  gentlemen,  we  will  present 
ourselves  to  this  worthy  man,  with  all 
the  appearance  of  the  new  legation.' 

'  Appearance  is  very  well,'  said  Beau- 
aire,  '  but  good  documents  are  better.' 

4  We  sliull  hiivfe  the  documents,'  la- 
conically replied  Don  Manoel. 

'  Ifr  would  be  useless  to  assert  that 
Don  Manoel  is  not  a  iran  of  merit,'  said 
Beausire. 

•  Our  appearance  and  the  documents 
having  convinced  the  chancellor  as  to 
the  identity  of  the  legation,  we  will  in- 
stal  ourselves  at  the  embassy.' 

'Oh!  oh!  that  is  rather  too  much,' 
cried  Beausire,  interrupting  him. 

4  It  cannot  be  otherwise,'  said  the 
Portuguese. 

'  It  is  perfectly  plain,'  affirmed  the 
other  partners. 

1  But  the  Chancellor,'  objected  Beau- 
sire. 

'  We  have  sai<1  it.  He  will  be  con- 
vinced.' 

'  If  by  chance  he  should  become  less 
credulous,  ten  minutes  before  he  began 
to  doubt,  he  would  be  dismissed.  I 
believe  that  an  ambassador  has  the  right 


t«>  change  his  charcellor  ?' 

•  No  doubt  of  it.' 

•  Then,    being   in    possession  of  the 
embassy,  our  first  step  will  be  to   pay  a 
visii  to  Messrs.  Boehmer  and  Bossaniie.' 

4  No,  by  no  means,'  said  Beausire. 
eagerly,  •youappearto  me  to  be  entirely 
ignorant  of  a  principal  point  with  which  I 


was  admitted  into  the  presence  of  Lou- 
is XIV  in  quality  of  Ambassador  from 
the  Schah  of  Persia,  and  who  had  the 
coolness  to  offer  to  his  very  Christian 
Majesty  some  thirty  livres  worth  of 
turquoises,  Riza  Bey,  I  say,  was  very 
well  founded  in  the  Persian  language, 
arid  the  deuse  isin  it  if  there  was  a  sin- 
gle man  of  learning  in  France  capable 
of  pioving  to  him  that  he  did  not  come 
from  Ispahan.  But  we  should  be  dis- 
covered the  very  instant  we  attempted 
to  speak  in  Portuguese,  and  as  our  pre- 
sentation gift,  we  should  at  once  be 
sent  to  the  Bastille.  Oh  !  let  us  be*- 
ware  of  that ." 

'  Your  imagination  carries  you  too 
far,  my  dear  colleague,'  said  the  Por 
tuguese,  '  but  we  will  not  throw  our- 
selves in  the  way  of  all  these  dangers  ; 
we  will  remain  in  our  hotel.' 

4  Then  M.  Boehmer  will  riot  believe 
us  to  be  so  completely,  Portuguese  ;  so 
actually  ati  embassy  as  may  be  neces- 
sary.' 

•  M.  Bohemer   will    understand    that 
we  come  to  France  upon   the  sole  mis- 
sion of  purchasing   the    necklace,    the 
Ambassador  having  been  changed  while 
we  were  on  the  road.      That  it  was  af- 
ter leaving   Portugal  we    had   received 
the  order  to  till  his  place.     This  order, 
well !   if  necessary  it  can  be    shown  to 
M.    Bossange,    as   it   must   have    been 
.shown  l>"t'mv  fo   the    chancellor  of  the 
embassy  ;  only,  we    must  endeavor  not 
to  show  this  order  to  the  king's,  minis- 
ters, for   these  ministers  are  a  very  in- 
quisitive  class  of  people,  they  are  mis- 
trustful  and    might    annoy  us    about    a 
host  of  trifling  details.' 

-  And  if  Messrs.    Boehmer  &   Bos- 
sange should  ask  ?'    said  Beausire. 

*  What  ?'  inquired  Don  Manoel. 

•  For  something  on   account,'  replied 
Beausire.  ^ 

•That  would  complicate  Hie  matter,' 
said  the  Portuguese  somewhat  embar- 


rassed. 

•  For  in    short,'     continued  Beausire, 
•  it  is  usual    for  an  Ambassador  to  bring 
with    him  letters  of  credit,  if  he    have 
not  ready  money.' 

•  That  is  well  observed,'  said  the  part- 
ners. 

'  And  there  the  affair  would  fail.'  con- 
am  perfectly  acquainted,  having  resided  j  tinued  Beausire. 
in  courts.      It  is  that  such  an  operation  I      4  You  are   always    finding,' said    Don 
as  you  are  speaking  of  cannot  be  effect-  j  Manoel  with  ice-like  sourness,   4  means 
ed  by  an  Ambassador  without  his  hav-    by  which   you  pretend  the  affair    must 
ing  previously  been  received  in  solemn   fail.     You  do  not   find  a  single   one  by 
audience,  and  there,  believe  me,  lies  the  {  which  to  make  it  succeed.' 
danger.     The    laiuoua  Rizii    Bev.  who  ,        If  is  nrecinely  because  I  wish  to  dis- 


136 


THE  QUEEN'S  NECKLACE ;  OR,  THE 


cover  them  that  I  first  contemplate  ev- 
ery difficulty,'  replied Beausire.  'And 
stay — yes — I  have  devised  a  means.' 

All  the  heads  of  the  partners  were 
huddled  together  in  one  circle,  in  breath- 
lees  expectation. 

'  In  every  chancery  there  is  a  trea- 
sury.' 

4  Yes,  a  treasury  and  credit.' 

4  Do  not  let  us  speak  of  credit,'  re- 
joined Beausire,  '  for  there  is  nothing 
which  is  procured  at  such  great  cost, 
To  obtain  credit — we  must  have  bors- 
OB,  equipages,  valets,  furniture,  a  regu- 
lar set  out,  which  is  the  basis  of  all 
credit.  Let  us  speak  of  the  cash  box. 
What  do  you  think  of  that  of  your  em- 
bassy.' 

'  I  have  always  considered  my  Sov- 
ereign, her  very  faithful  Majesty,  as  a 
magnificent  Queen.  She  must  have 
placed  things  in  a  proper  state.' 

4  Well,  that  we  shall  soon  discover  ; 
and  then  admitting  that  there  is  no 
money  in  the  cash  box — ' 

1  That,  is  possible,'  said  the  part- 
ners, sighing. 

'Then  there  would  be  no  farther 
trouble,  for  immediately  we,  the  Am- 
bassador, could  ask  Messrs.  Boelimer 
&  Bossange  the  name  of  their  corres- 
pondent at  Lisbon,  and  we  would  sign, 
seal  and  deliver  to  them  bills  of  ex- 
change upon  that  correspondent  for  the 
required  sum.' 

'Ah  !  that  is  excellently  combined,' 
aaid  Don  Manoel  majestically  :  '  having 
been  fully  occupied  by  the  conception 
of  the  plan,  I  had  not  entered  into  these 
minor  details.' 

'  Which  are  exquisite,'  said  the  faro 
banker  licking  his  lips. 

'  And  now  let  us  proceed  to  arrange 
our  difirent  parts,'  said  Beausire.  *  In 
Don  Manoel  I  see  the  Ambassador.' 

'  Yes,  undoubtedly,'  cried  the  whole 
me*;li  ng  in  lull  chorus. 

4  And  in  Monsieur  de  Beausire  1  see 
my  secretary  and  interpreter,'  added 
Don  Manoei. 

4  And  how  so  ?'  inquired  Benuirire, 
rather  uneasily. 

'  I  must  not.  be  presumed  to  speak  u 
word  of  French,'  said  Don  Manoel,  'I 
who  am  M.  de  Souzu,  for  I  know  that 
nobleman,  and  if  he  speaks,  which  rare- 
ly happens  to  him,  it  is  in  his  mother 
tongue,  the  Portuguese.  You,  on  the  j 
contrary,  M.  de  Beausire,  who  have 
travelled  and  have  been  much  accus- 
tomed to  transacting  business  in  Paris, 
and  who  can  speak  Portuguese  in  a 
very  agreeable  manner — ' 


'  Badly,'  said  Beausire. 

'  Enough,  not  to  be  taken  for  »  Pali* 
sian — ' 

'That  is  true — but — ' 

'And  besides,'  added  Don  Manoel, 
fixing  his  black  eyes  on  Beuusire,  fcthe 
most  useful  agents  will  derive  the 
largest  amount  of  the  advantages.' 

'  Assuredly,'  said  the  partners. 

'  I  am  your  interpreting  secretary.' 

'  Let  u«  settle  this  at  once,'  said  the 
banker,  interrupting  him.  '  How  shall 
the  profits  be  divided.' 

'  In  the  most  natural  way  imagin- 
able,' said  Don  Manoel.  '  There  are 
twelve  of  us.' 

4  Yes,  twelve,'  said  the  partners, 
counting  the  number  present. 

'  By  twelfths,  then,'  said  Don  Manoel, 
4  with  this  reservation  however,  that 
certain  persons  among  us,  shall  have  a 
share  and  a  half.  Myself,  for  instance, 
as  father  of  the  idea  and  Ambassador. 
M.  de  Beausire,  because  he  had  got 
scent  of  it,  and  talked  of  millions  on  ar- 
riving here.' 

Beausire  gave  an  approving  nod. 

'And,  besides,'  said  the  Portuguese,  *a 
share  and  a  half  to  him  who  shall  se1!! 
the  diamonds.' 

'  Oh  !'  exclaimed  all  the  partners  in 
a  breath,  '  nothing  to  him,  nothing  but  a 
half  share.' 

'  And  why  so  ?'  said  Don  Manoel 
with  surprize,  '  for  that  one,  it  appears 
to  me  will  run  considerable  risk.' 

1  Yes,'  said  the  banker,  '  but  he  will 
have  a  premium,  and  presents  on  de- 
livery which  will  give  him  a  good  round 
sum.' 

And  they  all  laughed.  Those  honest 
people  understood  each  other  inarrel- 
lously  well. 

'  Well  then,  the  whole  affair  ia  ar- 
ranged,' said  Beausire,  '  we  will  go  in- 
to the  details  to-morrow.  It  is  getting 
late.' 

He  was  thinking  of  Oliva  who-bad 
remained  at  the  ball,  alone,  with  the 
blue  domino,  towards  whom  despite  his 
facility  in  giving  louis  d'ors,  the  lover 
of  Nicole  did  not  feel  imbued  with  im- 
plicit confidence. 

'No,  no;  let  us  conclude  every  thing 
at  once,'  cried  the  partners,  '  what  are 
these  details?' 

'  First  of  all  a  travelling  chariot  with 
the  arms  of  de  Souza  on  it,'  said  Beau- 
sire. 

'  It  would  take  too  long  to  paint.'  ob- 
served Don  Manoel,  '  and  above  all  to 
dry/ 

'  Another     expedient     th*«,'     cried 


MYSTERIES  OF  THE  COURT  OF  LOUIS  XVI. 


137 


Beausire,  '  the  chariot  of  his  excellency 
the  Ambassador  will  have  broken  down 
on  the  road  and  he  will  have  been  com- 
pelled to  use  his  secretary's  post- 
chaise.' 

4  You  have  a  post-chaise  then  ?'  in- 
quired the  Portuguese. 

'  I  have  the  first  one  I  can  hire.' 

1  But  your  arms.' 

'  Any  that  may  happen  to  be  on  the 
chaise.' 

'Oh!  that  simplifies  eveiy  thing.  It 
must  be  very  dirty,  the  panels  and 
back  splashed  all  over,  particularly 
Where  the  arm  should  be,  and  the 
chancellor  will  not  be  able  to  see  any 
thinj;  but  dust  and  mud.' 

•  But  the  rest  of  the  embassy,'    said 
the  banker. 

'  As  to  ourselves  we  will  arrive  in  the 
evening,'  said  Beausire,  4that  is  the 
most  convenient  time  for  a  first  entrance, 
and  you,  you  will  arrive  the  next  morn- 
ing, when  we  shall  have  everything  pre- 
pared.' 

4  Very  well.'   • 

'  Every  Ambassador,  besides  a  secre- 
tary,' said  Don  Manoel,  4  requires  a 
valet  de  chambre,  a  very  delicate  of- 
fice.' 

'^Commandant,'  said  the  banker  ad- 
dressing one  of  the  sharpers,  4  you  will 
take  the  part  o  the  valet  de  chambre.' 

The  commandant  bowed. 

•  And  the  funds  for  the  necessary  pur- 
chases ;'  said  Don  Manoel,  '  as  for  my- 
aelf  I  am  cleaned  out.' 

'  I  have  money,'  said  Beausire,  4  but 
it  belongs  to  my  mistress.' 

1  How  much  have  we  in  our  strong 
box,'  said  some  of  the  partners. 

'  Your  keys,  gentlemen,'  said  the 
banker. 

Each  of  the  partners  drew  from  his 
pocket  a  key  which  opened  one  lock  out 
of  the  twelve  affixed  to  the  false  bottom 
of  the  famous  table,  so  that  in  this  hon- 
est partnership  neither  of  them  could 
visit  the  strong  box  but  with  the  per- 
mission and  in  the  presence  of  the  oth- 
er eleven. 

They  proceeded  to  examine  its  con- 
tents. 

4  One  hundred  and  ninety-eight  louis, 
over  and  above  the  reserved  fund,'  said 
the  banker  who  had  been  closely  watch- 
ed while  counting  the  money. 

4  Give  them  to  M.  de  Beausire  and  to 
me,  it  will  not  be  too  much,'  said  Don 
Manoel. 

4  Give  us  two  thirds  of  it,  and  give  the 
rest  to  the  remainder  of  the  embassy,' 


18 


said  Beausire  with  a  generosity  which 
at  once  conciliated  all. 

In  this  way  Don  Manoel  and  Bean- 
sire  received  one  hundred  and  thirty- 
two  louis,  and  sixty-six  remained  for 
the  others. 

They  then  separated,  appointing  a 
rendezvous  for  the  next  day.  Beausire 
rolled  up  his  domino  under  his  arm  and 
ran  off  as  fast  as  his  legs  could  carry  him 
towards  the  rue  Dauphine  where  h» 
hoped  to  find  Madnmoiselle  Oliva  in 
full  possession  of  all  her  former  virtneB 
and  some  new  golden  louis. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 


THE     AMBASSADOR. 

TOWARDS  the  evening  of  the  follow- 
ing day,  a  travelling  carriage  arrived  at 
the  barrier  d'Enfer,  sufficiently  dusty, 
sufficiently  splashed  with  mud,  for  no 
one  to  distinguish  the  arms  upon  ife 
panels. 

The  four  horses  by  which  it  was 
drawn,  absolutely  flew  over  the  pave- 
ment ;  the  postillions,  as  the  saying  is, 
were  driving  at  a  prince's  pace. 

The  carriage  stopped  at  an  hotel  of 
tolerably  fine  appearance  in  the  Rue^e 
la  Jussienne. 

At  the  gateway  of  this  hotel,  two 
men  were  waiting,  the  one  dressed 
with  some  degree  of  elegance  bbtoken- 
ing  ceremonious  attention,  th&  other  in 
a  sort  of  livery  commonly  worn  by  pub- 
lic officers  in  the  various  public  admi- 
nistrations of  Paris. 

In  other  words,  the  latter  looked  like 
a  Swiss  or  door-keeper,  in  his  gala  suit. 

The  travelling  carriage  entered  the 
court-yard  of  the  hotel,  the  gates  of 
which  were  immediately  clapped  to,  in 
the  faces  of  several  inquisitive  persons. 

The  person  who  had  attired  himself 
with  such  care  approached  the  car- 
riaij^-door  very  respectfully,  and  in 
rather  a  trembling  voice  began  an  ha- 
range  in  the  Portuguese  language. 

•  Who  inv  you  ?'  inquired  a  voice  ab- 
ruptly, and  in  the  same  language,  with 
this  sole  difference,  that  the  voice  spoka 
in  excellent  Portuguese. 

4  The  unworthy  Chancellor  of  the 
Embassy,  your  Excellency.' 

4  Oh  !  very  well.  But  how  badly 
you  speak  our  language,  my  dear  Chan- 
cellor!  On  which  side  must  I  alight?' 

'  This  side,  my  lord,  this  side.' 


THE  QUEEN'S  NECKLACE;  OR,  THE 


-  JITS  reception,'  said  the  Senhor 
Don  Mo  nod,  who  played  the  important 
persouage,  leaning  on  his  secretary  on 
th"  one  side  and  his  valet  de  chambre 
on  the  other. 

4  Your  excellency  will  deign  to  pnr- 
don  me,'  said  the  chancellor  in  his  bro- 
ken Portuguese  ;  '  it  was  only  at  two 
o'clock  this  afternoon  that  your  excel- 
lency's courier  alighted  at  the  hotel  to 
announce  your  arrival.  I  was  absent, 
my  lord,  absent  on  the  business  of  the 
legation.  On  my  return,  I  found  your 
excellency's  letter.  I  had  only  time  to 
have  the  apartments  opened,  and  they 
are  now  being  lighted  up.' 

4  Good,  good.' 

•Ah  !  it  is  with  the  most  sincere  joy 
that  I  see  the  illustrious  person  of  our 
new  ambassador.' 

•  Hush  !  say  not  a  word  about  it,  un- 
til fresh  orders  shall  have  arrived  from 
Lisbon.     Be  pleased,  sir,  merely  to  let 
me  be  conducted  to  my  bed-room,  for  I 
am  overcome  with  fatigue.     You  will 
regulate  every  thing  with  my  secretary, 
who  will  transmit  my  orders  to  you.' 

The  chancellor  bowed  respectfully  to 
Beausire,  who  replied  to  it  ve.ry  cor- 
dially. and  said  with  an  air  that  was 
courteously  ironical, 

•  Speak  French,  my  dear  sir,  in  this 
way  you  will  be  more  at  your  ease  and 
so  shall  I.' 

•  Yea,  yes,'  said   the  chancellor,  in   a 
half  whisper,    '  1  shall  be    more  at   my 
ease,   for  I   will   acknowledge    to   you, 
that  my  pronunciation  -  ' 

4  1  perfectly  comprehend  that,'  re- 
plied Beausire  with  much  assurance. 

'I  will  take  advantage  of  this  oppor- 
tunity, good  M.  Secretary,  since  I  find 
you  are  so  amiable  ;i  man,'  hurriedly 
said  the  chancellor,  '  I  will  take  advan- 
tage of  this  opportunity  to  ask  you 
whether  you  think  M.  de  Souza  is  dis- 
pleased at  my  so  murdering  the  Portu- 


'Not  in  the  least,  not  in  the  least, 
provided  you  speak  French  with  puri- 
ty. 

4  Who,  1  !'  replied  the  chancellor,  joy 
fully,  4  a  Parisiiiu  of  tlip  rue  Saint  Hon- 
or* ." 

4  Oh  !  indeed,  that  is  quite  delightful,' 
said  Beaunire  what  do  they  call  you? 
Durum  rau  i  belie*  e.' 

.  Hr,  Ducornoau  is  my  name, 
a  tolerably  fortunate  name,  for  it  has 
•omewhat  of  a  Spanish  termination. 
Ah  !  good  M.  Secretary  you  know  my 
name,  then  7  that  is  very  flattering  to 
me.' 


'Yes,  you  ajre  well 'spoken  of  out 
younder,  so  well  indeed,  that  yorrgood 
reputation  was  the  cause  of  our  not 
bringing  a  chancellor  from  Lisbon.' 

'Oh!  how   grateful    do  I   feel,    good 
M.  Secretary,  and  what  a  happy  chance    x 
the    nomination   of   M.  de    Souza    haa 
proved  to  me.' 

'  But  his  excellency  the  Ambassador 
has  rung  his  bell,  I  believe.' 

4  Let  us  run  then,' 

And  they  did  run  in  fact.  The  Am- 
bassador, thanks  to  the  zeal  of  his  valet 
de  chambre,  had  undressed  himself 
He  had  put  on  a  magnificient  dressing 
gown  ;  a  barber,  who  had  been  hastely 
summoned  was  shaving  him.  A  few 
boxes  and  dressing  cases,  of  rather  rich 
appearance  were  placed  upon  the  tables 
and  pier  tables  of  the  bed-room. 

A  large  fire  was  crackling  on  th« 
hearth. 

4  Come  in,  come  in,  my  good,  chan- 
cellor,' said  the  Ambassador,  who 
had  thrown  himself  into  an  immense 
easy  chair,  well  cushioned.'  and  right 
before  the  fire  place.  * 

4  The  Ambassador  will  not  be  angry 
if  I  reply  to  him  in  French?'  said  the 
chancellor  whispering  to  Beausire. 

4  No,  no;  speak  on.' 

Ducorneau,  pronounced  a  compliment 
in  French. 

4 Ah!  why  this  is  very  convenient; 
you  speak  French  admirably.  Mousieur 
du  Corno. 

'  He  takes  ine  for  a  Portuguese,' 
thought  the  chancellor  beside  himself 
with  joy. 

And  he  pressed  Beaosire's  hand. 

'  But  tell  me,"  said  Don  M'anoel,  'can 
we  have  some  supper.' 

4  By  all  moans,  your  Excellency,  Oh! 
yes,  the  Palais  Royal  is  only  two  steps 
off,  and  I  know  a  restaurateur  who  will 
bring  your  Excellency  a  good  supper.' 

4  As  if  it  were  for  yourself.  .Monsieur 
du  Corno  ?' 

•  Yes,  my  lord — and  if  your  excel- 
lency would  permit  me.  I  would  take 
the  liberty  of  offering  you  a  few  bottles 
of  wine  from  your  own  country,  such 
as  your  excellency  can  have  only  found 
at  Oporto  itself.' 

4  Ha  !  our  chancellor  has  a  good  cel- 
lar,' said  Beausire,  merrily 

4  It  is  my  only  luxuj-y.'  humbly  re- 
plied the  worlhy  man ;  and  it  was  only 
then,  by  the  light  of  the  wax  candles, 
that  Don  Manoel  and  Beausire  observed 
the  sparkling  eyes,  the  fat.  round 
cheek*,  and  the  rubicund  nose  of  (he 
I  chancellor. 


MYSTERIES  OF  THE  COURT  OF  LOUIS  XVI. 


139 


1  Do  &a  you  please,  Monsieur  duCor- 
no,'  said  the  ambassador  ;  '  bring  us 
your  wine,  and  come  and  sup  with  us.' 

•  Oh  !  such  an  honor — ' 

'  Without  etiquette  :  to-day  I  am  still 
but  a  traveller,  I  shall  be  the  ambassa- 
dor only  to-morrow ;  and  besides  which, 
we  can  talk  over  matters.' 

'Oh!  but  uiy  lord  will  allow  me  to' 
make  some  alteration  in  my  dress.' 

»Why,  you  are  superb,'  said  Beausire. 

'This  is  a  mere  receiving  dress,  not 
one  for  grand  occasions,'  observed  Du- 
corneau. 

'  Remain  as  you  are,  M.  Chancellor, 
and  bestow  on  the  preparations  for  our 
supper  the  time  it  would  take  you  to 
change  your  dress.' 

Ducorneau,  perfectly  delighted,  left 
the  ambassador  and  hastened  to  save 
ten  minutes,  in  order  that  his  excellen- 
cy's appetite  might  be  the  sooner  gra- 
tified. 

In  the  meantime,  the  three  rascals, 
left  to  themselves  in  the  bed-chamber, 
began  to  examtoe  the  furniture  and  the 
papers  regarding  their  new  authority. 

•  Does   this   chancellor  sleep  in   the 
hotel  ?'  inquired  Don  Manoel. 

'  Oh  !  no  ;  the  fellow  has  a  good  cel- 
lar, and  no  doubt  has  a  pretty  woman 
or  a  grisette  somewhere.  He  is  an  old 
bachelor.' 

•  And  the  porter  ?' 

1  We  must  get  rid  of  him.' 

•  I  will  take  care  of  that.     The  other 
servants  in  the  hotel  ?' 

'  Hired  people,  whom  our  partners 
will  supersede  to-morrow.' 

•  What  says  the  kitchen  ?  What  says 
the  pantry?' 

•  Dead  !    dead  !     The  former  ambas- 
sador never  came  near  the  hotel.     He 
had  a  house  in  the  fashionable  part  of 
the  town.' 

'  And  what  says  the  storng  box  /' 

'  As  to  that,  it  will  be  necessary  to 
consult  the  chancellor,  a  rather  delicate 
question.' 

'  I  will  manage  him,'  said  Beausire  ; 
'  we  are  already  the  best  friends  in  the 
worlQ.' 

'  Hush  !  here  he  is.' 

And  in  fact  Ducorneau  returned  quite 
out  of  breath.  He  had  given  the  ne- 
cessary orders  to  a  celebrated  cook  in 
the  Rue  des  Boiis-Eufans,  had  brought 
with  him  six  bottles  of  very  respecta- 
ble, dusty  appearance,  and  his  jolly  face 
announced  the  best  possible  disposition 
for  enjoying  the  feast  to  which  he  had 
been  so  graciously  and  so  unexpectedly 
invited. 


'  Will  not  your  Excellency,'  said  he, 
'  be  pleased  to  go  down  into  the  dining- 
room  ?' 

'  By  no  means,  by  no  means ;  we  will 
sup  in  this  room,  sociably,  )>y  this  good 
fire.' 

'  Your  lordship  transports  me  with 
joy.  Here  is  the  wine.' 

'Real  topazes,'  said  Beausire,  hold- 
ing one  of  the  bottles  before  a  candle. 

'  Sit  down,  Monsieur  du  Corno,  while 
my  valet  de  chambre  prepares  the  ta- 
ble.' 

Ducorneau  sate  down. 

'  On  what  day  did  the  last  despatches 
arrive  ?'  inquired  the  ambassador. 

'  The  evening  before  the  departure 
of  your — of  the  predecessor  of  your  ex- 
cellency.' 

'  'Tie  well.  Is  the  legation  in  a  good 
state  ?' 

'  Oh  !  yes,  my  lord.' 

•  No  unfortunate  money  affairs?' 
'None  that  I  know  of.' 

'  No  debts  ? — Oh  !  speak  out  at  once. 
If  it  should  be  so,  we  would  begin  by 
paying  them.  My  predecessor  is  a 
Worthy  nobleman,  for  whom  I  would  at 
once  become  guarantee.' 

'  Heaven  be  thanked,   my  lord,  there 
is  no  need  of  that ;  every  account   was 
settled   three   weeks  ago.   and  the  day 
after  the  ambassador  Icfr  Paris,  a  hun 
dred  thousand  livres  arrived  here.'    • 

'  A  hundred  thousand  livres !'  ex- 
claimed both  Don  Manoel  and  Beausire, 
trasported  with  joy. 

'  So  that,'  said  Beausire.  stifling  his 
emotion,  '  there  is  now  in  the  strong 
box  here — ' 

1  One  hundred  and  eight  thousand 
three  hundred  and  twenty-eight  livrea 
M.  Secretary.' 

'  That  is  but  little,'  said  Don  Mauoel, 
coldly  :  •  but,  fortunately,  her  Majesty 
has  placed  funds  at  our  disposal.  I  was 
quite  right  when  I  told  you,  my  dear 
sir,'  added  he,  addressing  Beausire, 
'that  we  should  be  short  of  money  In 
Paris.' 

•  Foi  tuutttdv,   your    Excellency  had 
taken  precautionary  measures,' respect- 
fully replied  Beausire. 

From  the  moment  that  thi*  commu- 
nication had  been  made  by  the  chancel- 
lor, the  hilarity  of  the  embassy  gradu- 
ally increased- 

A  good  supper,  consisting  of  a  ual- 
mon,  some  enormous  crayfish,  game, 
and  roast  meats,  by  no  means  lessened 
the  joviality  of  the  Portuguese  lords. 

Ducorneau,  on  iiading  himself  so 
much  at  hU  ease,  eat  as  much  a*  ten 


140 


THE  QUEEN'S 


Spanish  grandees,  and  demonstrated  to 
bis  superiors  that  a  Parisian  of  the 
Rue  St.  Honore«could  quaff  the  wines 
of  Oporto  and  Xeres  with  as  much 
impunity  as  those  of  Brie  and  Ton- 
nerre. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

MESSRS.    BOKHMKR    &    BOSSANGK. 

M.  DUCORNEAU  was  still  offering 
thanks  to  Heaven  for  having  sent  him 
an  Ambassador  who  preferred  the 
French  to  the  Portuguese  language  and 
the  wines  of  Portugal  to  those  of  France; 
he  was  enjoying  that  delicious  beatitude 
with  a  satisfied  and  grateful  stomach 
communicated  to  the  brain,  when  M. 
de  Souza  calling  to  him,  told  him  that 
it  was  time  to  go  to  bed. 

Ducorneau  rose  from  his  chair  mak- 
ing numerous  reverences  as  he  retired, 
knocking  his  shins  against  every  piece 
of  furniture  that  stood  in  his  way,  till 
he  at  length  managed  to  get  out  of  the 
room,  and  thence  into  the  street. 

Beausire  and  Don  Manoel  had  not 
paid  such  honor  to  the  wine  of  the  em- 
bassy as  to  oblige  them  at  once  to  re- 
tire to  bed. 

Moreover,  it  was  necessary  that  the 
valet  de  chambre  should  snp  as  well  as 
his  masters,  an  operation  which  the 
commandant  accomplished  with  much 
minuteness,  following  the  example  set 
him  by  the  Ambassador  and  his  secre- 
tary. 

The  plan  of  their  next  days  operations 
was  soon  settled.  The  three  associates 
took  a  turn  through  the  hotel  to  ascer- 
lain  its  precise  position,  after  assuring 
themselves  that  the  porter  was  asleep. 

Thr  next  morning,  tluuiks  to  the  ac- 
tivity of  Ducorneau  when  fasting,  the 
embassy  had  awakened  from  its  lethar- 
gy. Offices,  piiper  boxes,  writing 
desks,  an  air  of  business,  horses  pawing 
in  tht;  court-yard,  indicated  bustle  and 
life,  where  but  the  day  before  all  ap- 
peared listlessness  and  death. 

A  rumor  was  soon  spread  in  the 
neighborhood  that  a  great  personage,  a 
charge  d'affaires,  had  arrived  from  Por- 
tu^iil  during  the  night. 

This  rumor  which  ought  to  have  ad- 
ded to  the  credit  of  our  three  rascals, 
was  on  the  contrary  a  source  of  continu- 
ally increasing  alarm  to  them 

And  indeed,  M.  de  Crosne's  police, 
and  that  of  M.  de'Bretettil,  hud  tong 


OR,  THE 


ears,  which  would  take  good  care  not 
to  close  nnder  such  circumstances  ;  thwjr 
had  Argus  eyes  which  would  certaiwly 
not  be  shut,  when  Portuguese  diplo- 
matists were  in  question. 

But  Don  Manoel  observed  to  Beau- 
sire,  that  with  a  proper  degree  of  au- 
.dicity  they  could  prevent  the  police  frotn 
entertaining  any  suspicions  during  a 
whole  week,  anil  these  suspicions  even 
from  becoming  certainties,  ior  at 'least 
a  fortnight,  and  that  consequently  bo- 
fore  ten  days  had  elapsed,  being  tb» 
mean  term,  nothing  could  inconvenience 
the  affiiirs  of  the  association,  which  as- 
sociation would  have  concluded  ito 
operations  in  six  days. 

Daylight  had  just  dawned  when  two 
hired  chaises  landed  at  the  hotel  their 
cargoes  of  nine  r«;sculs  who  were  to 
complete  the  household  of  the  embassy, 

They  were  soon  installed,  or  mther, 
we  should  say,  sent  to  bed  by  Beaasire. 
One  of  them  was  appointed  to  the  cash 
department,  another  as  keeper  of  thfe 
archives,  a  third  to  tafte  the  place  of 
the  porter,  whom  Ducorneau  himself 
dismissed,  under  the  pretext  that  he 
did  not  speak  the  Portuguese  kngntigo. 
The  hotel  was  therefore  peopled  by 
this  new  garrison,  whose  duty  it  was  to 
defend  it  from  all  profane  eyes. 

The  police  is  in  the  highest  degree 
profane  to  all  those  who  have  political 
or  other  secrets. 

Towards  noon,  Don  Manoel  alius  Sou- 
za, having  dressed  himnelf  in  handsome 
style,  got  into  a  very  decent  looking  car- 
riage which  Beausire  had  hireu  for 
five  hundred  livres  a  month,  pitying  a 
fortnight  in  advance. 

He  drove  to  the  house  of  Messrs. 
Boehmer  &  Boseange,  accompanied  by 
his  secretary  and  valet  de  chambre. 

The  chancellor  received  orders  to  ex 
pedite  in  the  usual  manner  during  tin- 
absence  of  the  Ambassador,  ail  busi- 
ness relating  to  possports,*  indemnities*, 
or  relief  to  the  (iistressed,  with  tbis 
proviso  however,  that  he  was  not  to 
pay  out  tiny  cash,  or  settle  any  accounts, 
but  with  the  cognizance  of  tlin  sm;n;- 
tary. 

These  gentlemen  wished  to  keep 
the  sum  w  ;i  hundred  thousand  iivrus 
perfectly  intact,  as  the  fundamental 
pivot  of  all  their  operations. 

The  Ambassador  was  informed  that 
the  jewellers  of  the  frown  lived  on  the 
Qjnai  de  1'Ecole  where  he  arrived  at 
about  one  in  the  afternoon. 

Thr  valet  de  chambre  knocked  njio- 
derately  at  the  jeweller's  door,  which 


MYSTERIES  OF  THE  COURT  OF  LOUIS  XVI. 


141 


was  closed  with  massive  looks,  and  gar- 
nished with  large  headed  nails,  like  the 
door  of  a  dungeon. 

These  nails  were  so  artistically  ar- 
ranged that  they  formed  various  de- 
signs, more  or  less  agreeable  to  the 
oye,  but  they  w'ere  so  placed  that  no 
gimht.  saw  or  file  could  touch  a  parti- 
cle of  the  wood  without  encountering 
:i  piece  of  iron  mid  consequently  dam- 
aging the  inuplemem. 

A  .small  trollitied  wicket  in  this  pon- 
derous door  wti«  then  opeued  and  a 
voice  iisked  the  valet  de  chambre  what 
he  wanted. 

4  His  excellency  the  Ambassador  from 
Portugal  desires  to  speak  with  Messrs. 
Boehmer  &  Bossange,'  replied  the  va- 
let. 

A  face  was  soon  seen  at  the  first 
floor  window,  then  hurried  steps  were 
heard  descending  the  stair-case.  The 
door  opened. 

Don  Manoel  alighted  from  his  car- 
riage with  dignified  deliberation. 

M.  Beausire  had  got  out  first  in  order 
to.  ofter  his  arm  to  his  excellency. 

The  man  who  advanced  with  so 
much  eagerness  to  meet  the  two  Por- 
tuguese was  M.  Boehmer  himself,  who 
on  hearing  the  carriage  stop  had  looked 
through  the  window,  and  heard  the 
word  Ambassador,  and  had  hurried 
down  stairs  that  his  excellency  might 
not  be  kept  waiting.  , 

The  jeweller  made  all  sorts  of  apolo- 
gies while  Don  Manoel  was  ascending 
the  stairs. 

Beausire  remarked  that'behind  them 
there  was  an  old  woman  servant,  well 
formed  and  vigorous,  who  fastened 
the  locks  and  bolts,  of  which  there  was 
a  great  profusion  on  the  street  door. 

M.  Beausire  htiving  appeared  to 
make  these  observations  with  a  certain 
degree  <>f  attention.  M.  Beausire  said 
to  him  : 

'  Your  pardon,  sir :  but  we  are  so 
exposed  in  our  unfortunate  business 
that  we  are' compelled  to  take  all  possi- 
ble mtMins  of  prevention.' 

Don  Manoel  had  remained  perfectly 
impassible.  Boehmer  seeing  this,  re- 
peated to  him  the  phrase  which  had 
been  greeted  by  Beausire  with  an 
agreeable  smile.  But  the  Ambassador 
not  having  even  winked  at  this  second 
attempt  more  than  at  the  first.' 

4  I  trust  your  .excellency  will  pardon 
me.'  said  Boehmpr  again,  completely 
out  of  countenance. 

4  His  excellency  does  not  speak 
Ffsnch,'  said  Beasuire.  » and  cannot 


understand  you,  sir;  but  at  all  events;! 
will  communicate  your  apologies  to 
him,  unless  indeed,'  he  added,  hastily, 
1  you,  yourself  speak  Portuguese.' 

'  No  sir,  I  do  not.' 

1  Then,  I  will  speak  for  you.' 

And  Beausire  jabbered  a  few  Portu- 
•guese  words  to  Don  Mnnoel,  who  re- 
plied to  him  in  the  same  idiom. 

'  His  excellency  the  Count  de  Souza, 
Ambassador  from  her  very  faithful  Ma- 
jesty, graciously  accepts  your  apologies, 
sir,  and  charges  me  to  ask  you  if  you 
have  still  in  your  possession  a  certain 
handsome  diamond  necklace  ?' 

Boehmer  raised  his  hat  and  looked  at 
Bausire  with  the  air  of  a  man  who 
knew  how  to  appreciate  the  ynportance 
of  the  person  hPaddresses. 

Beausire  sustained  the  investigation 
with  all  the  coolness  of  a  skillful  diplo- 
matist. 

4  A  diamond  necklace,'  slowly  said 
Boehmer,  '  a  very  handsome  necklace.' 

4  The  one  you  offered  to  the  queen 
of  France,'  added  Beausire,  '  and  of 
which  her  very  faithful  Majesty  ha* 
heard  mention.' 

4  You,  sir,  I  suppose,'  said  Boehmer, 
1  hre  one  of  the  Ambassador's  officers.' 

4  Hie  private  secretary,  sir.' 

Don  Manoel  had,  as  a  great  person- 
age, seated  himself;  he  was  examining 
the  paintings  on  the  panels  of  a  tolera- 
bly handsome  room,  which  fronted  on 
the  quay. 

A  brilliant  sunshine  was  then  gilding 
the  Seine  and  the  poplars  were  show- 
ing their  first  green  shoots  above  the 
river,  which  was  still  swollen  and  turbid 
from  the  thaw. 

Don  Manoel  turned  his  attention 
from  the  paintings  to  observe  the  land- 
scape. 

'  It  appears  to  me,  sir,'  said  Beausire 
•  that  you  have  not  heard  a  word  of  all 
I  have  been  saying  to  you.' 

'  And  how  so,  sir,'  inquired  Boeh- 
mer somewhat  startled  at  Beausire's 
sharp  tone. 

4  It  is  because  I  see  his  excellency  is 
getting  impatient  M.  Jeweller.' 

4 1  trust  you  will  excuse  me,  sir,'  said 
Boehmer,  coloring,  '  but  I  must  not 
show  the  necklace  excepting  in  th« 
'presence  of  my  partner  M.  Bossange.' 

4  Well,  then,  sir,  send  for  your  part- 
ner.' 

Don  Manoel  approached  them,  and 
with  a  freezing  air,  which  had  some- 
thing majestic  in  it,  he  began  nn  ha- 
rangue in  Portuguese,  during  which 
Beausire  bowed  respectfully  several 


142 


THE  QUEEN'S  NECKLACE;  OR,  THE 


times.  After  which  he  turned  his 
buck  and  continued  his  contemplation 
through  the  windows. 

'  His  Excellency  tells   me,  sir,'  said 
Benusire  to  Boehmer,  '  that  he  has  al 
ready  been   waiting  ten   minutes,   a'.d 
that  he  is  not  in  the  habit  of  waiting 
any  where,  even  for  kings.' 

Boehmer  bowed,  went  to  a  bell-pull, 
und  rang  it. 

A  minute  afterwards,  another  person 
entered  the  room.  It  was  M.  Bossange, 
the  partner  of  M.  Boehmer. 

Boehmer  explained  the  matter  to  him 
in  two  words.  Bossange  cast  a  glance 
on  the  two  Portuguese,  and  then  asked 
Boehmer  for  his  key  to  open  the  iron 
chest.  . 

'  It  would  appear  trftt  honest  men,' 
thought  Beausire,  'are  just  as  cautious 
in  their  dealings  with  each  other,  as 
thieves  themselves.' 

Ten  minutes  afterwards,  M.  Bossange 
returned  with  a  jewel-case  in  his  left 
hand,  his  right  hand  being  concealed 
under  his  coat.  Beausire  saw  distinctly 
the  shape  of  two  pistols  beneath  the 
coat. 

'  We  may  have  a  tolerably  imposing 
appearance,'  gravely  said  Don  Manoel 
in  Portuguese;  '  but  these  shopkeepers 
seem  rather  to  take  us  for  swindlers 
than  ambassadors.' 

And  while  uttering  these  words,  he 
looked  intently  at  the  jewellers  to  ascer- 
tain by  the  slightest  indication  of  emo- 
tion on  their  countenances,  whether 
they  understood  the  language  in  which 
he  spoke. 

Nothing  of  this  description  could  be 
traced  ;  the  box  was  opened  and  a  mag- 
nificent necklace  appeared,  of  dazzling 
•pleader. 

They,  with  much  apparent  confi- 
dence, placed  the  jewel-case  in  Don 
Maiioel's  hand,  who  suddenly  exclaimed 
with  ;mger, 

'  Monsoo,'  said  he  to  his  secretary, 
4  tell  these  fellows  that  they  exceed  the 
privilege  which  nil  shopkeepers  have  of 
being  stupid.  They  are  showing  me 
paste  \s  lien  I  a rn  asking  for  diamonds. 
Tell  llu-ni  that  I  shall  complain  to  the 
French  minister,  and,  in  the  name  of 
m}'  queen,  demand  that  persons  who 
dare  to  trifle  with  an  ambassador  from 
Portugal  should  be  severely  repri- 
manded.' 

It  was  not  necessary  for  Beausire  to 
interpret  all  his  Excellency's  words — 
the  pantomime  sufficiently  explained 
his  meaning. 

Boehmer  and  Bossange  made  all  sorts 


of  apologies  :  they  said  that  in  France 
it  was  customary  to  show  fac-similes  of 
diamond  ornaments,  in  order  to  satisfy 
respectable  people,  and  not  to  excite  or 
tempt  the  cupidity  of  thieves. 

M.  de  Souza  made  an  energetic  ges- 
ture and  moved  towards  the  door,  the 
jeweller's  gazing  at  him  with  much 
anxiety. 

'  His  excellency  desires  me  to  say  to 
you,'  pursued  Beausire,  •  that  it  is  to  be 
regretted  that  persons  buariug  the  ti- 
tle of  jewellers  to  the  French  crown, 
should  not  know  how  to  distinguish  an 
Ambassador  from  a  rapscallion  ;  and  his 
excellency  now  retires  to  his  hotel.' 

Messrs  Boehmer  &  Bossange,  inter- 
changed looks,  and  bowing  lowly  .assur- 
ed his  excellency  of  their  unbounded 
respect, 

M.  de  Souza  walked  on  paying  no  at- 
tention to  their  excuses,  and  almost 
treading  on  their  toes,  left  the  room. 

The  jewellers  looked  at  each  other 
with  decided  uneasiness  and  bowing  al- 
most to  the  ground. 

Beausire  proudly  followed  his  mas- 
ter. 

The  old  woman  unlocked  aud  unbolt- 
ed the  door. 

4  To  the  Hotel  of  the  Embassy,  rue 
de  la  Jussienue  !'  cried  Beausire  to  the 
valet  de  chambre. 

Boehmer  heard  this  through  the 
wicket. 

'  A  perfect  failure  !'  grumbled  the 
valet. 

'A  complete  success."  whispered 
Beausire.  '  In  an  hour  these  clowns 
will  be  at  the  hotel.' 

The  carriage  rolled  off  as  rapidly  at 
if  it  had  been  drawn  by  eight  horses. 


CHAPTER   XXVIII. 

AT    THE    EMBASSY. 

O>  returning  to  the  Hotel" of  the  Em- 
bassy, these  gentlemen  found  Ducor- 
neau,  who  wiis  .lining  very  tranquilly 
in  his  office. 

Beausire  requested  him  to  go  up 
stairs  to  the  Ambassador,  arid  spoke 
thus  to  him. 

'You  will  readily  perceive,  dear  chan- 
cellor, that  a  man  like  M.  de  Souza,  is 
not  an  ordinary  Ambassador.' 

4 1  have  perceived  that,'  replied  the 
chancellor. 

'His  excellency  naturally  wishes  to 
occupy  a  distinguished  place  in  1'uris, 


MYSTERIES  OF  THE  COURT  OF  LOUIS  XVI. 


143 


•rnofig  the  rich  and  men  of  taste.  That 
is  to  say  that  to  reside  in  this  frightful 
Hotel  in  the  rue  de  la  Jussienne  would 
be  insupportable  to  him.  It  will  there- 
fore be  necessary  to  find  a  private  resi- 
dence for  M.  de  Souza ' 

1  That  would  much  complicate  our 
diplomatic  matters,'  said  the  chancel- 
lor, '  we  should  have  to  run  about  con- 
tinually after  signatures — ' 

'  And  his  excellency  would  give  you 
a  carriage  for  that  purpose,  dear  Mon- 
sieur Dueorneau,'  replied  Beausire. 

Ducorneau  almost  fainted  with  de- 
light. 

'  A  carriage  tor  me  !'  he  exclaimed. 

1  It  is  disgraceful  that  you  have  not 
one  already  ;  the  chancellor  of  an  em- 
bassy, if  he  be  at  all  respectable  ought 
to  have  a  carriage;  but  we  will  talk  again 
upon  this  matter  at  a  proper  moment. 
We  have  now  to  give  an  account  to  the 
Ambassador  of  the  State  of  our  for- 
eign affairs.  By-the-by  where  is  the 
cash  office  of  the  embassy?' 

'  Up-stairs,  sir  ;  in  the  Ambassador's 
own  apartment.' 

'  So  far  from  you  ?' 

4  A  precautionary  measure,  sir ; 
thieves  would  find  more  trouble  to  get 
at  it  on  the  first  floor  than  on  the  ground 
floor.' 

1  Thieves  !'  exclaimed  Beausire  dis- 
dainfully,«and  for  so  trifling  an  amount!' 

'  A  hundred  thousand  livres  !*  cried 
Ducorneau,  'the  deuce  !  do  you  call  that 
a  trifle  .'  It  is  clearly  to  be  seen  that 
M.  de  Souza  must  be  rich.  There  is 
not  a  hundred  thousand  livres  in  all  the 
other  embassies  put  together.' 

4  Shall  we  extimine  it  now  ?  I  am  in 
a  hurry  to  get  my  affairs  in  order.' 

'This  moment  if  you  please,  sir,  this 
moment,'  said  Ducorneau  ascending  the 
Btaira  with  Beausire. 

They  examined  the  strong  box  and 
Beausire  found  the  amount  precisely  as 
Ducorneau  had  stated. 

Ducorneau  offered  his  key,  which 
Beausire  examined  for  some  time  as  if 
admiring  the  beautiful  workmanship  of 
its  complicated  wards. 

While  doing  this  he  very  adroitly 
took  an  impression  of  it  upon  wax. 

And  then  \\<t  returned  it  to  the  ctan-  j 
cellor,  Buying, 

'  M.  Ducorneau  this  key  is  in  safer 
keeping  in  your  hands  than  mine.  Let 
us  now  go  to  the  Ambassador.' 

They  found  Don  Mauoel  sipping  his 
national  chocolate.  He  appeared  much 
occupied  with  a  puper  covered  with 
cyphers.  On  seeing  his  chancellor. 


'  Do  you  understand  the  cypher  of  the 
former  correspondence  ?'  enquired  he. 

'  No,  your  excellency.' 

•Well  then,  henceforward  I  wish  you 
to  be  initiated  in  it,  sir.  You  will,  in 
that  way,  save  me  the  trouble  of  a  thou- 
sand annoyinf  details.  By-the-b}7,  the 
state  of  our  cash  matters  ?'  said  he,  to 
Beausire. 

'  In  a  perfect  state,  as  is  every  thing 
under  the  charge  of  M.  Ducorneau/  re- 
plied Beausire. 

4  The  hundred  thousand  livres.' 

'  Intact,  sir.' 

4  Very  well ;  sit  down  M.  Ducorneau. 
I  wish  you  to  give  me  some  informa- 
tion.' 

4  At  your  excellency's  pleasure,'  re- 
plied the  delighted  chancellor. 

4  This  is  the  matter  in  question.  It 
is  a  State  affair,  Monsieur  Ducorneau.' 

4  Oh !  my  lord,  I  am  listening  with  all 
attention.' 

And  the  worthy  chancellor  drew  his 
chair  nearer  to  his  excellency. 

4  A  serious  affair,  in  which  I  stand  in 
need  of  your  experience.  Do  you 
know  any  tolerably  respectable  jewel- 
lers in  Paris?' 

'  There  are  Messieurs.  Boehmer  & 
Bossange,  the  jewellers  of  the  crown,' 
replied  the  chancellor. 

'  And  they  are  precisely  the  people 
that  I  will  not  employ,'  said  Don  Ma- 
noel,  '  I  have  just  left  them,  and  will 
never  see  them  again.' 

4  They  have  then  had  the  misfortune 
to  displease  your  excellency.' 

4  Seriously,  Monsieur  Corno,  serious- 

iy-' 

'  Oh!  it  I  might  be  a  little  less  re- 
served— if  I  dared — ' 

'  Say  on.' 

4  I  would  venture  to  ask,  how  these 
people,  who  have  great  reputation  in 
their  business — ' 

•  They  are  perfect  Jews,  M.  Corno, 
and  their  unhandsome  conduct  will 
make  them  lose  something  like  a  mill- 
ion or  two.' 

4  Oh!'  cried  Ducorneau,  eagerly. 

'I  was  sent  by  her  very  Faithful  Maj- 
esty to  negotiate  for  a  diamond  neck- 
lace.' 

'  Ah  !  yes,  yes ;  the  celebrated  neck- 
lace which  was  ordered  by  the  late 
King  for  Madame  Bubarry.  I  know  1 
I  know  !' 

4  You  are  an  invaluable  man,  yon 
know  everything.' 

4  Well  then  !  I  had  intended  to  pur- 
chase that  necklace ;  but  as  things 
stand,  I  will  not  buy  it  at  all. 


14'! 


THE  QUEEN'S  NECKLACE;  OR,  THE 


•  M;iy-I  be  permitted  to  interfere?' 

'  Mv  Corno  ?' 

'  Diplomatically »  very  diplomatically, 
my  lord. 

"  If  you  knew  these  people,  it  per- 
haps might  do.' 

'  Bossange  is  my  cousin.  I  know  not 
how  many  times  removed,  according 
to  the  fashion  of  Brittany/ 

Don  Manoel  nnd  Beausire  looked  at 
each  other.  There  was  a  pause  for 
some  moments.  The  two  Portuguese 
were  sharpening  their  wita. 

Suddenly  one  of  the  footmen  opened 
the  door,  and  announced 

'  Messieurs.  Boehmer  and  Bossange." 

Don  Manoel  jumped  up  from  his 
chair,  and  in  an  irritated  lone,  exclaim- 
ed, • 

1  Send  those  people  away.' 

The  servant  made  a  stop  to  obey. 

'No,  dismiss  them  yourself,  Mr.  Sec- 
retary,' rejoined  the  ambassador. 

'  In  the  name  of  Heaven!'  said  Du- 
corneau,  with  an  accent  of  supplication, 
'allow  me  to  execute  my  lord's  order. 
I  will  soften  it  since  it  cannot  be  elu- 
ded.' 

'  Do  so,  if  you  will,'  said  Don  Ma- 
noel,  carelessly. 

Beausire  approached  him  at  .the  mo- 
ment that  Ducorneau  hurriedly  left  the 
room, 

•  ReflUy,'  cried  Don  Munoel,  '  it  seems 
that  fate  decides  that  this  aflair   should 
fail.' 

•  By  no  menus :  Ducornenu  will  make 
all  right   again.' 

'  He  will  only  embroil  it — the  wretch. 
We  spoke  only  Portuguese  atthe  jewel- 
lers. You*  yourself,'  told  them  that  T 
did  not  speak  a  word  of  French  :  Du- 
corneau Avill  spoil  all.' 

4 1  will  run  and  prevent  that.' 

•  It  may  be  dangerou*s  to   show  your- 
self, Beaumre.' 

'  You  will  see  the  contrary:  only 
give  me  the  full  power  to  net.' 

'  Undoubtedly.' 

Beausire  left  the  room. 

Dncorneau  had  found  Boehmer  and 
BosMinge  waiting  below  ;  their  counte- 
nances, since  their  entrance  into  the 
embassy,  had  assumed  the  most  polite, 
if  not  altogether  confiding,  expression. 

They  hud  not  calculated  upon  seeing 
the  face  of  an  acquaintance,  and  had 
gone  into  a  small  receiving  room, where 
they 'were  ceremoniously  expect  ing  one 
of  the  officers  of  the  embassy. 

>  in  seeing  DucorneHU,  Bossange  ut- 
tered a  cry  of  joyful  surprise. 

•  You  here  ''  Paid  he. 


And  he  approached  to  embrace  him. 

'Ah  !  ah  !  you  are  very  amiable,'  re- 
plied Ducorneau,  '  you  know  me  here, 
my  rich  cousin,  do  you?  Is  it  because 
I  belong  to  an  ambassador.' 

'  Yes,  in  truth  ;'  said  Bossange,  'and 
if  wo  hflwe  been  somewhat  sti  angers, 
forgive  me,  and  do  me  now  a  service. 

'  I  came  for  that  very  purpose.' 

•Oh  !  thank  you.  You  are  then  at- 
tached to  the  embimsy  ?' 

'  Why,  yes.' 

'  I  want  to  make  3fh  inquiry.' 

'  What  is  it  and  iibout  what?' 

'  About  the  embassy  itself. 

'I  am  the  chancellor  of  the  embas- 
sy.' 

•  Oh  !  that  is  admirable,  we  wish  to 
speak  to  the  ambassador.' 

'  I  have  just  been  sent  to,  you  bjr 
him.' 

'  By  him,  and  to  tell  us —  ?' 
'  That  he    requests  you  will  quickly 
get   out  of   his   hotel,  and  very  quickr 
ly,  gentlemen.' 

The  two  jewellers  looked  perfectly 
abashed. 

'  Because,'  said  Ducorneau,  speak- 
ing with  great  importance,  '  you  have 
been  very  awkward,  and  very  impolite, 
as  it  appears.' 

'  Listen  to  us  a  moment — ' 

'  It  would  be  useless,'  suddenly  ex- 
ckimed  the  voice  of  Beausire,  wh» 
made  his  appearance  on  the  threshold 
of  the  door,  looking  haughtily  and  cold- 
ly. '  M.  Ducorneau,  his  excellency  or*- 
dered  you  to  dismiss  these  pereoni, 
therefore,  dismiss  them,  and  at  once.' 

'  Good,  Mr.  Secretary — ' 

'  Obey  !'  rejoined  Beausire  disdain- 
fully, '  du  as  you  were  ordered.' 

And  he  passed  through  the  room. 

The  chancellor  took  his  relation  by 
the  right  shoulder,  &  the  partner  of  his 
relation  by  the  left,  and  gently  pushed 
them  out  of  the  door. 

'  There,'  said  he,  'you  have  missed  a 
good  affair.' 

'  How  very  easily  these  foreigners  are 
oft'ended,  good  Heaven  ."  murmured 
Boehmer,  who  was  himself  a  German. 

When  a  man's  name  is   Souza,  and 
he  has  an  income  of  nine  hundred  thou- 
sand livres  a  yenr,  he  has  a    right,    my 
i  dear  cousin,  to  be  just  what  he  pleases.' 

'Ah!'  sighed  Bossange,  '  I  was  ri^ht 
in  telling  you.  Boehmer,  that  you  ar« 
too  stiff  in  business  matte?-.' 

'  Wwll,'  replied  the  obstinate  Ger- 
man, '  if  we  do  not  get  his  money,  he 
shall  not  have  our  necklace.' 

They  were  near  the  street  door. 


MYSTERIES  OF  THE  COURT  OF  LOUIS  XVI. 


146 


Ihicorneau  began  to  laugh. 

'  Do  you  pretend  to  know  what  a 
Portuguese  is?'  said  he  disdainfully— 
•  do  you  know  what  an  ambassador  is  ? 
citizens  that  you  are. — No.  Well,  I 
will  tell  you  :  an  ambassador,  the  favor- 
ite of  a  queen,  the  Prince  Potemkin, 
on  the  first  of  January  every  year, 
bought  for  this  queen  a  basket  of  cher- 
ries, which  cost  him  one  hundred  thous- 
and crowns,  a  thousand  livres  for  every 
cherry  ;  that  is  a  handsome  sum,  is  it 
not  ?  Well !  M.  de  Souza  will  buy  the 
mines  of  Brazil,  merely  to  find  one  dia- 
mond as  large  as  the  whole  of  yours, 
that  would  cost  him  twenty  years'  in- 
come ;  but  what  matters  that  to  him  ? 
he  has  no  children.  There  !' 

And  he  was  closing  the  dpor  upon 
them,  when  Bossange  had  an  idea  : 

4  Maiinge  to  make  up  this  matter, 
and  you  shall  have ' 

•  We  are  all  incorruptible  here,'  re- 
plied Ducorneau,  slamming  to  the  door. 

The  same  evening,  the  ambassador 
received  the  following  letter  : 

'Mr  LORD  :  A  man  who  awaits  your 
orders,  and  is  desirous  of  offering  to 
you  the  respectful  apologies  of  your 
humble  servants,  is  at  the  door  of  your1 
hotel.  On  a  sign  from  your  excellency, 
he  will  place  in  the  hands  of  one  of 
your  household  the  necklace  which  has 
had  the  honor  of  attracting  your  atten- 
tion. 

'Be  pleased  to  receive,  my  lord,  the 
assurance  of  the  profound  respect,  &c., 
&c., 

'BoEHMER  &  BOSSANGE.' 

4  Well !'  cried  Don  Manoel,  after 
reading  this  epistle,  '  the  necklace  is 
ours.' 

•  Not  at  all ;  not  at  all,'  said  Beausire ; 
'  it  will   only   be  ours  when   we    have 
bought  it — therefore,  let  us  buy  it.' 

'  How  so?' 

'  Your  excellency  does  not  under- 
stand French,  that  is  agreed  ;  and  first 
of  all,  let  us  get  rid  of  the  chancellor.' 

'  How  can  we  do  that  ?' 

'  In  the  most  natural  way  imaginable. 
It  will  only  be  necessary  to  entrust  to 
him  some  important  diplomatic  mission, 
and  I  will  take  caje  to  do  that.' 

•  You   are  wrong,'  replied  Don  Ma- 
noel, •  he  would  be   our  surety,  in  this 
affair.' 

4  He  would  say  that  you  speak  French 
aa  well  as  M.  Bossange  and  myself.'-. 

4  He  would  not  say  so ;  I  would  beg 
him  not.'  •  _ 

19 


4  Well,  let  him  remain,  then.  Let  the 
diamond  man  come  in.' 

The  man  was  introduced ;  it  was 
Roohmer  in  person.  Boehmer,  who 
made  the  most  profound  bows  and  the 
most  submissive  apologies. 

After  which  he  presented  his  dia- 
;md  seemed  as  if  he  intended  to 
leave  them  to  be  examined. 

Don  Manoel  desired  him  to  remain. 

1  This  trial  is  sufficient,'  said  Beau- 
sire,  '  you  are  a  mistrustful  dealer ; 
you  ought  to  be  polite.  Sit  down  here, 
and  let  us  converse,  since  his  excellen- 
cy the  ambassador  has  forgiven  you.' 

4  Ah  !  what  trouble  a  man  has  to  sell 
his  goods,'  sighed  B.oehmer. 

4  What  trouble  does  a  man  take  to 
steal,'  thought  Beausire. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

THE    BARGAIN. 

The  ambassador  then  consented  to 
examine  the  necklace  more  minute- 
ly- 

M.  Boehmer  carefully  exhibited  ev- 
ery stone  and  expatiated  on  their  sev- 
eral separate  beauties, 

4  As  to  the  aggregate  of  these  stones/ 
said  Beausire,  to  whom  Don  Manoel 
had  given  his  opinion  in  Portuguese, 
4  his  Excellency,  the  ambassador,  has 
nothing  to  complain  ;  taken  together,  it 
is  satisfactory.' 

4  As  to  the  diamonds,  separately,  it  is 
not  the  same  thing  ;  his  excellency  has 
counted  ten  which  are  somewhat  defec- 
tive, somewhat  spotted.' 

4  Oh!'    exclaimed  Boehmer. 

4  His  excellency,'  said  Beausire,  in- 
terrupting him,  4 is  a  better  judge  of 
diamonds  than  you  can  be.  The  Por- 
tuguese nobility  in  the  Brazils  play  with 
diamonds,  aa  children  do  here  with 
glass.' 

And  in  fact,  Don-Manoel  placed  his 
finger  upon  several  diamonds,  one  after 
the  other,  and  pointed  out  with  admira- 
ble perspicuity,  defects  which  to  others 
would  have  been  imperceptible,  and 
which  even  a  eonnoisseur,  would  hard- 
ly have  remarked. 

'  Such  as  it  is,  however,' said  Boeh- 
mer, much  surprised  to  find  so  great  a 
nobleman  so  skilful  a  lapidary,  '  such  as 
it  is,  this  necklace  is  the  finest  collec- 
tion of  diamonds  which  at  this  time  ex- 
ists in  all  Europe.' 


146 


THE  QUEEN'S  NECKLACE;  OR,  THE 


4  That  is  true,'  said  Don  Manoel,  and 
on  a  sign,  Beausire  added — 

•  Well,  M.  Boehmer  ;  this  is  the 
state  of  the  case,  Her  Miijesty  the 
Queen  of  Portugal  has  heard  much  of 
this  necklace,  and  she  commissioned 
his  excellency  to  negotiate  the  affair, 
after  having  seen  the  diamonds.  Tin- 
diamonds  suit  his  excellency  :  ho\v 
much  do  you  demand  tor  the  necklace  .'' 

'  Sixteen  hundred  thousand  livres,' 
replied  Boehmer. 

Beausire  repented  the  amount  to  his 
ambassador. 

1  It,  is  too  dear  by  a  hundred  thou- 
sand livres,'  observed  Don  Manoel. 

'My  Lord,'  said  the  jeweller,  'the 
profit  cannot  be  precisely  estimated  on 
an  article  of  such  importance  ;  it  has' 
required  in  order  to  unite  the  diamonds 
necessary  to  form  a  necklace  of  this  ex- 
traordinary beauty,  journies  and  inqui- 
ries, attended  with  expenses  which 
would  alarm  any  one  who  knew  what 
they  had  been  as  well  as  I  do.' 

'One  hundred  thousand  livres  too 
dear,'  rejoined  the  tenacious  Portu- 
guese. 

4  And  for  his  excellency  to  say  so 
much  to  you,'  said  Beausire,  'it  must 
arise  from  positive  conviction  on  his 
part,  for  he  never  bargains.' 

Boehmer  appeared  somewhat  stag- 
gered ;  there  is  nothing  which  gives 
more  confidence  to  a  suspicious  dealer, 
than  a  purchaser  who  haggles  as  to 
price. 

'I  could  not,'  said  he,  after  a  mo- 
ment's hesitation,  '  agree  to  such  a  di- 
minution in  the  price,  as  would  make 
all  the  difference  of  loss  or  profit  to  my- 
self and  partner.' 

Don  Manoel  listened  to  Beausire's 
interpretation,  and  rose  from  his  chair. 

Beausire  closed  the  jewel  case  and 
returned  it  to  Boehmer. 

'  1  will,  however,  consult  M.Bossange 
on  the  subject;  does  your  excellency 
consent,  to  that  /' 

'  What  do  you  mean  by  that  ?'  said 
Beauaire. 

1  I  mean  to  say  that  the  ambassador 
appears  to  have,  offered  fifteen  hundred 
thousand  livrew  for  the  necklace.' 

'  Yes.' 

1  Does  his  excellency  agree  to  that 
price  ?' 

'  His  excellency  never  retracts  any 
thin;,  that  he  has  said,1  pompously  re 
plied  Beausire,  'but  his  excellency  will 
sometimes  refuse  an  article  altogether, 
rather  than  be  exposed  to  the  annoy- 
ance of  bargaining  for  it.' 


'  M.  Secretary,  do  you  not  at  ones 
conceive  the  necessity  I  am  under,  of 
conversing  with  my  partner  on  the 
subject  ?' 

'  Oh  !  perfectly,  M.  Boehmer.' 

'  Perfectly,'  replied  Don  Manoel,  in 
Portuguese,  to  whom  Boehmer's  ques- 
tion had  been  communicated  ;  'but  it  is 
also  necessary  that  I  should  have  a 
prompt  solution. 

'  Well,  then,  my  lord,  if  my  partner 
agrees  to  this  abatement.  I  agree  to  it 
at  once.' 

"Tis  well! 

'The  price,  then,  is  fixed  at  fifteen 
hundred  thousand  livres.' 

'  Be  it  so.' 

'  Then,  all  that  remains  to  be  obtain- 
ed is  the  ratification  of  M.  Bossange.' 

'  It  is  so  agreed.' 

\  '  And,  after  that,  the  only  considera- 
tion is  the  mode  of  payment.' 

'On  that  head  you  will  not  find  the 
slightest  difficulty,'  said  Beausire. — 
'  How  do  you  wish  to  be  paid  ?' 

'Why,'  said  Boehmer,  laughing,  'if 
it  were  possible  to  have  it  in  ready  mo- 
ney  ' 

'  What  do  you  call  ready  money '!' 
said  Beausire,  coldly. 

'  I  know  that  no  one  can  have  a  mil- 
lion and  a  half  in  hard  cash,  at  a  mo- 
ment's notice.' 

'  And,  moreover,  it  would  be  incon- 
venient even  to  you,  M.  Boehmer.' 

'  And  yet,  M.  Secretary,  I  would  not 
consent  to  part  with  it,  without  receiv- 
ing some  immediate  payment.' 

'That  is  but  right.' 

And  he  turned  towards  Don  Manoel. 

'  How  much  ready  money  would 
your  excellency  give  M.  Boehmer  ?' 

'A  hundred  'housand  livres.' 

'  A  hundred  thousand  livres,'  said 
Beausire  to  Boehmer,  '  on  signing  the 
agreement.' 

'  But  the  remainder  ?'  asked  Boeh- 
mer. 

4  The  time  it  will  require  to  trans- 
mit a  draft,  signed  by  my  lord,  to  Lis- 
bon ;  unless,  indeed,  you  should  prefer 
to  wait  for  an  order  sent  from  Lisbon  to 
Paris.' 

'  Oh  !  replied  Boehmer  •  we  have  a 
correspondent  in  Lisbon,  and  by  writing 
to  him — ' 

'  The  very  thing,'  said  Beausire, 
laughing  ironically,  '  write  to  him  ;  ask 
him  if  M.  de  Souza  is  solvent,  and 
whether  her  Majesty  the  Queen,  can 
be  trusted  to  the  amount  of  fourteen 
hundred  thousand  livres," 

'  Sir,'  said  Boehmer,  rather  confused. 


MYSTERIES  OF  THE  COURT  OF  LOUIS  XVI. 


147 


'  Do  you  accept,  or  would  you  prefer 
other  conditions;' 

4  Those  which  you  have  been  pleas- 
ed to  propose  to  me,  ut  first  appeared 
to  me  acceptable.  Would  there  be  any 
fixed  dates  for  the  payment?' 

'It  would  be  divided  into  three 
amounts — two  of  five  hundred  thousand 
and  one  of  four  hundred  thousand  li- 
vres,  and  it  would  give  you  the  motive 
for  an  interesting  journey.' 

'  A  journey  to  Lisbon  ?  ' 

'And  why  not?  Is  it  not  worth 
while  for  the  purpose  of  receiving  a 
million  and  a  half  in  three  months  time, 
to  inconvenience  oneself  a  little  ?' 

'Oh!  undoubtedly,  but — ' 

"  Moreover  you  would  travel  at  the 
expense  of  the  embassy,  and  either  my- 
self or  the  chancellor  would  accompany 
you.' 

4 1  should  take  the  diamonds  with 
me  ?' 

'  Without  the  slightest  doubt ;  unless 
you  would  prefer  to  send  the  drafts 
from  Paris,  and  allow  the  diamonds  to 
travel  alone  to  Portugal.' 

'  I  do  not  know — I — believe — that — 
the  journey  might  be  useful  —  and 
that — : 

'  That  is  also  my  opinion.'  said  Beau- 
sire,  '  the  treaty  would  be  signed  here, 
you  will  receive  your'hundred  thousand 
livres  in  cash — you  also  would  sign  the 
contract— and  you  would  cany  the  dia- 
monds to  her  majesty.  What  is  the 
name  of.  your  correspondent  ?' 

"Messiers  Nunez,  Balboa  &  bro- 
thers.' 

Don  Manoel  raised  his  head. 

"  They  are  my  bankers,'  said  he, 
smiling. 

'  They  are  his  excellency's  bankers,' 
said  Beausire,  also  smiling. 

Boehmer  appeared  perfectly  radiant 
with  joy ;  every  cloud  was  dissipated 
from  his  brow;  he  bowed  as  if  to  thank 
the  ambassador,  and  to  take  leave. 

A  sudden  thought  made  him  return. 

4  What  is  it  now  ?'  asked  /Beausire, 
with  some  anxiety. 

'  Our    words    are    pledged  ?'      said 

T>          I  1  O 

rJoehmer. 

'  Yes,  pledged. 

'  Saving — ' 

'  Saving  the  ratification  of  M..  Bos- 
sange;  that  is  understood.' 

« Saving  another  case,'  added  Boeh- 
mer. 

'Ah!  ah." 

'  Sir,  this  is  a  most  delicate  one,  and 
the  honor  of  the  Portuguese  name  is 
too  powerful  a  feeling  for  his  excel- 


lency not  to  understand  my  meaning.' 

'  What  means  this  round-about 
phrase.  To  the  point.' 

'This  is  the  fact.  The  necklace  has 
been  offered  to  the  queen  of  France.' 

'  Who  refused  it.     What  besides  ?' 

'  We  cannot  allow  this  necklace  to 
ieave  France  for  ever  without  first  ap- 
prising the  queen,  and  re  pec  t  and  loy- 
alty even  demand  that  we  should  give 
the  preference  to  her  majesty,  our 
queen.' 

'  Perfectly  right,'  said  Don  Manoel 
with  dignity.  '  It  would  well  please 
me  did  I  hear  a  Portuguese  tradesman 
utrer  such  sentiments  as  those  of  M. 
Boehmer.' 

'  1  am  most  happy  and  most  proud 
thus  to  receive  the  approbation  his  ex- 
cellency has  deigned  to  bestow  upon 
me.  These,  then,  are  the  two  reserv- 
ed cases,  ratification  of  the  conditions 
by  Bossange,  and  a  second  and  definitive 
refusal  from,  her  majesty  the  queen  of 
France.' 

'  On  our  side,'  said  Beausire,  '  one 
hundred  thousand  livres  in  ready  mo- 
ney, three  drafts  amounting  to  fourteen 
Irundred  thousand  livres  placed  in  your, 
hands.  The  case  of  diamonds  delivered 
to  the  chancellor  of  the  embassy  or  to 
me,  whichever  of  us  shall  accompany 
you  to  Lisbon,  to  the  house  of  Messrs. 
Nunez,  Balboa  &  brothers.  Payment 
of  the  whole  to  be  made  in  three 
months.  Your  travelling  expenses  to 
be  paid.' 

'  Yes,  my  lord  ;  yes,  sir,'  said  Boeh- 
mer, making  his  bow. 

'  Ah  !'  suddenly  cried  Don  Manoel. 

4  What  is  it  ?'  exclaimed  Boehmer, 
uneasy  in  his  turn,  and  returning. 

4  For  pin  money,'  said  the  ambassa- 
dor, '  a  ring  worth  a  thousand  pistoles 
to  be  given  by  you  to  my  secretary  or 
jto  the  chancellor  ot  the  embassy:  in 
short,  to  whoever  may  accompany  you 
in  your  journey,  M.  Jeweller.' 

'  That  is  but  too  just,  my  lord,'  mur 
inured  Boehmer,  '  and  I  had  already  in 
my  own  mind  decided  upon  doing 
that.' 

Don  Manoel  dismissed  the  jeweller 
with  a  wave  of  the  hand  as  any  mighty 
nobleman  would  have  done. 

The  two  partners  remained  alone. 

'  Be  pleased  to  explain  to  me'  said 
Don  Manoel  to  Beausire,  with  a  certain 
degree  of  vivacity,  '  what  devilish  idea 
you  got  into  your  head,  that  inspired 
you  not  to  have  the  diamonds  delivered 
here.  A  journey  to  Portugal,  are  you 
mad  ?  Could  not  we  have  given  these 


148 


THE  QUEEN'S  NECKLACE;    OR,  THE 


jewellers  their   money,   and  take  their 
diamonds  in  exchange  ?' 

I  You  consider  the  part  you  are  act- 
ing  as  ambassador  in    too   positive   a 
light,'  replied  Beausire.     '  You  are  not 
yet    precisely    M.    de     Souza    in    M. 
Boehmer's  opinion.' 

4  Pshaw  !  do  you  think  he  would  have 
come  to  an  agreement  had  he  suspected 
any  thing?' 

'Be- that  as  you  please.     He  would 
not  have  entered  into    an    agreement, 
that   is  possible,    but   every   man  who 
has  fifteen  hundred  thousand  livres  in  | 
his  possession  believes  himself  tho  su-  ! 
perior  of  all  the  kings  and  all  the  ambas- 
sadors in  the  world.     Every  man  who  '. 
barters  fifteen  hundred  thousand  livres 
against  bits  of  paper,   desires  to  know 
if  those  bits  of  paper  are  of  any  value.' 

'  Then  you  will  go  to  Portugal !  you 
who  do  not  understand  Portuguese — I 
tell  you  you  are  mad.' 

'  Not  in  the  least — you  will  go  there 
yourself,' 

'Oh!  by  no  means,'  exclaimed  Don 
Manoel,  4what  I  return  to  Portugal? 
f  have  too  famous  reasons  not  to  do  so. 
No  !  no  ." 

I 1  declare  to  you  that  Boehmer  never 
would  have  given  his  diamonds  for  mere 
paper.' 

'  But  paper  signed  de  Souza  ." 

1  When  I  said  that  he  really  imagines 
himself  a  Souza  !'  exclaimed  Beausire, 
striking  his  hands  together. 

*  I  would  rather  hear  it  said  that  the 
affair  has  failed,'  said  Don  Manoel. 

'  Not  in  the  slightest  degree.  Come 
here,  commandant,'  said  Beausire,  to 
the  valet  de  chambre,  who  just  then  put 
his  head  in  at  the  door,  '  You  know 
the  matter  at  issue — do  you  not  ?' 

'  Y«- 

'  You  were  listening/ 

'  Undoubtedly.' 

'  Very  well.  Are  you  of  opinion  that 
I  have  committed  a  stupidity?' 

'1  HIU  of  opinion  that  you  have  a  hun- 
dred thousand  reasons  on  your  side.' 

'  And  say  why  !' 

•Simply  for  this.  M.  Boehmer  would 
have  made  inquiries  as  to  the  signa- 
ture— would  never  have  ceased  watch- 
ing the  hotel  of  the  embassy  and  the 
ambassador,' 

4  And  what  then  ?'  said  Don  Manoel. 

4  Why  this  !  Having  his  money  in 
•  ,  his  hand,  his  jewel  case  by  his  side,  M. 
Boehner  will  no  longer  entertain  any 
suspicion,  and  will  set  out  very  tran- 
quilly for  Portugal,'  added  Beausire. 

14  We  shull  not  go  so  far  as  that,  aui- 


bflssador,1  said  the  valet  de  chambre,  4i» 
it  not  so,  chevalier  de  Beausire  ?' 

'  Come  now,  this  is  a  fellow  of  som« 
imagination,'  said  the  lover  of  Oliva. 

4  Explain  your  plan  then'  coldly  sug- 
gested Don  Manoel. 

'  Within  somt!  fifty  leagues  of  Paris/ 
s;iid  Beausire,  this  imaginative  gentle- 
man, having  a  mask  upon  his  face,  will 
rush  out  and  show  to  our  postilion  the 
muzzle  of  a  pistol,  or  'even  two ;  he 
will  rob  us  of  our  bills  of  exchange,  our 
diamonds,  will  half  kill  M.  Boehmer  by 
beating  him,  and  the  affair  will  be  com- 
pleted.' 

'  I  did  not  precisely  mean  that,'  said 
the  valet  de  chambre.  '  I  saw  M.  Beau- 
sire  and  M.  Boehmer  embarking  at 
Bayonne  for  Portugal. 

'  Very  well.' 

'  M.  Boehmer,  like  all  Germans,  ia 
fond  of  the  sea,  and  takes  his  walk  upon 
the  deck.  One  day  the  sea  is  rough, 
the  vessel  heels,  and  overboard  he  goes. 
It  is  understood  the  jewel-case  goes 
with  him.  There  !  why  should  not  the 
sea  s wallow,  the  fifteen  hundred  thous- 
and livres'  worth  of  diamonds,  since  it 
has  never  .given  up  the  Spanish  gal- 
leons ?' 

'  Ah !  yes,  I  understand,'  said  the 
Portuguese. 

4  That  is  fortunate,'  grumbled  Beao- 
sire. 

•  Only'  replied  Don  Manoel  4  for  hav- 
ing pilfered  the  diamonds,  one  is  sent  to 
the  Bastille,  and  for  having  made  M. 
Boehmer  peep  into  the  sea,  a  man  i» 
hanged.' 

'  For  having  stolen  the  diamonds,  on* 
is  taken.'  said  the  commandant ;  '  for 
having  drowned  this  man,  one  cannot 
be  suspected  even  for  a  minute.' 

4  We  shall  see  what  is  to  be  don* 
when  the  moment  comes,'  replied 
Beausire.  '  In  the  meantime,  to  our 
several  parts.  Let  us  conduct  the  em- 
bassy as  perfect  models  of  the  Portu- 
guese nation,  that  people  may  say  of  us 
— '  It  they  were  not  real  ambassadors, 
at  all  events,  they  had  the  appearance 
of  being  BO!'  That  would  be  always 
flattering.  Let  us  tranquilly  await  the 
issue  of  three  days.' 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

'  *' 
THE  EDITOR'S  HODSX. 

On  the  day  following  that  on  which 
the  Portuguese  had  made  the  agree- 


MYSTERIES  OF  THE  COURT  OF  LOUIS  XVI. 


149 


ment  with  liunhmer,  and  three  days 
subsequent  to  the  bull  at  the  opera,  at 
which  were  present  several  of  the  prin- 
cipal personages  of  this  history,  the 
following  events  occurred: 
In  the  Rue  Montorgueil,  at  the  end 


of  a    court,    the 
closed    by  an 


access  to  which  was 
was  a  rather 


But  what  are  a  few  pieces  of  a  news- 
paper to  glut  one's  vengeance  upon, 
which,  to  allay,  requires  the  skin  of  the 
gazetteer  himself. 

With  the  exception  of  these  scenes, 
the  tranquillity  of  the  Grate  was  pro- 
verbial. 

M.  Reteau  would,  go  out  in  the  morn- 


high  and  narrow  house,  protected  from  ing,  take  a  turn  on  the  quays,  the  pub- 
;ii. •  nois.i  of  the  street  by  massive  shut-  i  lie  squares,  and  the  boulevards.  He 
ters,  which  gave  it  the  appearance  of  a  |  observed  the  leading  follies  of  the  day 
house  in  the  country.  i  — all  that  was  ridiculous  or  vicious — 

At  the  bottom  of  this  court,  on  the  |  noted  them  down,  drew  sketches  of 
ground  floor,  to  reach  which  it  was  ne-  them  to  the  life,  and  then  gave  them 
nessary  to  ford  through  two  or  three  at  full  length  in  his  following  number. 
stinking  drains,  was  a  sort  of  shop,  half  His  journal  was  a  weekly  one. 
open  to  those  who  had  surmounted  the  That  is  to  say,  for  four  days  Reteau 
obstacle  of  the  iron  gate  and  the  length  i  hunted  up  matter  for  his  articles,  had 

/»     .  1  I*.*,!        !•____        *_  1_     _  _   .  1 .  1 _    ._     » 


of  the  court. 

This  was  the  house  of  an  editor  of 


it  printed  during  the  other  three,  and 
always  took  care  that  his  paper  should 


some  renown,  u  gazetteer,  as  they  said  be  ready  early  on  the  day  of  publica- 
in  those  days.  The  editor  lived  on  the  tion. 

first  floor.  The  ground  floor  was  used  i  On  the  day  of  which  we  are  speak- 
to  pile  up  the  back  numbers  of  the  ,  ing,  the  paper  had  just  appeared,  it  be- 
newspaper,  which  were  duly  ticketed.  |  ing  seventy-two  hours  after  the  opera 


The  two  upper  stories  of  the  house 
were  tenanted  by  quiet  people,  who 
had  them  at  a  low  rent,  in  consequence 
of  the  annoyance  to  which  they  were 
iubjected  several  times  during  the  year 
from  the  noisy  scenes .  occurring  be-' 
tween  the  gazetteer  and  police  agents, 
or  private  individuals  whom  he  had  of- 
fended by  his  writings,  or  actors  whom 
he  had  treated  worse  than  Helots. 

On  those  days,  the  tenants  of  this 
house,  which  throughout  the  neighbor- 
hood was  called  the  Grate,  closed  their 
front  windows,  that  they  might  more 
distinctly  hear  the  yelpings  of  the  ga- 
zetteer, when  receiving  chastisement ; 
butwho,  when  he  could  manage  it,  would 
take  refuge  in  the  Rue  des  Vieux-Au- 
gustins,  by  an  issue  which  was  on  a 
level  with  his  room. 

A  back  door  opened,  then  closed 
again,  and  the  noise  ceased  ;  the  man 


ball,  at  which  Mademoiselle  Oliva  had 
enjoyed  so  much  pleasure,  while  lean- 
ing on  the  arm  of  the  blue  domino. 

M.  Reteau,  before  getting  up  at  eight 
o'clock,  received  from  the  hands  of  his 
old  female  servant  that  day's  number, 
still  reeking  and  smelling  strong  of  prin- 
ter's ink. 

He  hastened  to  read  this  number 
with  the  parental  attention  which  a  ten- 
der father  shows  when  passing  in  re- 
view the  good  qualities  or  defects  of  a 
beloved  child. 

Then,  when  he  had  read  it  through, 

'  Aldegonde,'  said  he  to  the  old  wo- 
man, '  this  is  a  very  pretty  number  ; 
have  you  read  it  ? ' 

'Not  yet;  my  soup  is  not  made. yet,' 
replied  the  old  woman. 

'  I  am  well  satisfied  with  this  num- 
ber,' said  the  gazetteer,  raising  from 
his  miserably  thin  mattress  his  arms. 


who  had   been   threatened   had  disap-  !  which  were  thinner  still, 
peared,  and -the  assailants  found  them-'      'Yes,'   replied  Aldegonde,    'but  do 
selves  alone  in  presence  of  four  fusi-   you  know  what  they  say  at  the  print- 
leers  of  the   French  guards^  whom  an   ing  office  ?' 
old  woman  servant  had  hurried  off  to        «  What  do  they  say  there  ?' 
tetch  from  the  guard-room  at  the  Corn-        «  They  say  that  it  is  certain  you  will 
market.  not  escape  the  Bastille  this  time.' 

It  would  happen  now  and   then   that  ,      Reteau  sat  up  in  bed,  and  in  a  calm 
the  assailants,  not  finding   any  one  on  j  voice,  said  : 

-whom  to  vent  their  rage,  would  fall  '  Aldegonde !  Aldegonde  !  make  me 
upon  the  damp  papers  on  the  ground  a  good  soup,  and  do  not  trouble  your- 
floor,  tear  them  to  pieces,  trample  them  self  with  literary  matters.' 
under  foot,  or  burn  them,  if  unfortu-  'Oh!  always  the  same  !' cried  the  old 
natcly  then-  wa^  a  fire  at  hand,  and  thus  woman,  'as  audacious  as  a  cock-spar- 
destroy  a  goodly  number  of  the  calum-  row !' 


sheers. 


I  will  buy  you  a  pair  of  buckles  with 


150 


THE  QUEEN'S  NECKLACE;  OR,  THE 


to-day's  number,'  said  the  gazetteer, 
Vrho  again  rolled  himself  up  in  a  sheet 
of  rather  equivocal  whiteness. 

'  Have  there  been  many  copies  sold  ?' 

'Not  yet,  and  my  buckles  will  not  be 
yery  shining  ones  if  this  continues.  Do 
you  remember  the  good  number  against 
M,  de  Broglie  ?  a  hundred  copies  were 
sold  before  ten  o'clock.' 

4  And  I  had  retreated  three  times 
into  the  rue  des  Vieux  Augustins,' 
said  Reteau  ;  '  the  slightest  noise  threw 
me  into  a  fever ;  those  military  men  are 
so  brutal.' 

'  I  conclude,'  said  the  obstinate  Alde- 
gonde  '  that  to-day's  number  will  not  be 
worth  that  of  M.  de  Broglie.' 

'  Be  it  so,'  -  said  Retenu,  '  but  I  shall 
not  be  compelled  to  take  to  my  heels 
so  often,  and  I  shall  eat  my  soup  tran- 
quilly ;  do  you  know  why  Aldegonde  ?' 

1  Not  I,  faith,  sir.' 

'  It  is  that  instead  of  attacking  a  man, 
I  attack  a  body ;  instead  of  attacking  a 
soldier,  I  attack  a  queen.' 
:  '  The  queen  !  Heaven  be  thanked  !' 
muttered  the  old  woman  ;  '  then,  fear 
nothing,  if  you  have  attacked  the  queen 
you  will  be  carried  in  triumph ;  we 
shall  sell  all  the  numbers  and  I  shall 
have  my  buckles.' 

'  There  is  somebody  ringing,'  said 
Reteau. 

The  old  woman  ran  to  die  shop  to 
attend  to  the  customer. 

A  moment  afterwards,  she  returned 
up  stairs  with  flashing  eyes  and  per- 
fectly triumphant  air. 

'  A  thousand  copies  !'  she  exclaimed, 
4  a  thousand  all  at  once !  there's  an 
order  for  you.' 

4  And  in  what  name,'  eagerly  enqui- 
red Reteau. 

'  I  don't  know." 

4  We  must  know  it ;  run  quickly.' 

'  It  is  a  porter,  an  Auvergnese,  with 
his  park.' 

'  Good  !  question  him,  ask  him  where 
he  is  goimj;  to  cany  them.' 

Aldegonde  made  stood  haste;  the 
wooden  stairs  creaked  under  her  pon- 
derous legs,  and  her  shrill  voice  re- 
sounded through  the  floor  as  she  ques- 
tioned the  messenger.  Ho  replied  that 
he  was  going  to  carry  the  papers  to  the 
house  of  the  Count  de  Cagliostro,  Rue 
Neuve  Saint  Gilles  in  the  Marais. 

The  gazetteer  gave  a  bound  of  joy 
which  was  very  near  breaking  down  his 
bed.  He  immediately  (.,01  up,  hastily 
put  on  some  clothes  and  went  down 
etairs  to  assist  in  the  delivery  of  the 
papers,  confided  to  the  care  of  a  single 


clerk,  a  species  of  half  starved  shadow, 
even  more  diaphanous  than  the  printed 
sheets.  The  thousand  copies  were 
placed  on  the  pack  or  hod  which  the 
j  Auvergnese  had  affixed  to  his  shoulders, 
who  disappeared  through  the  grated 
gate,  bending  beneath  their  weight. 

M.  Reteau,  who  had  gone  to  his  room 
again,  was  about  to  make  some  notes 
i  for  his  succeeding  number  as  to  the 
I  great  success  of  the  present  one,  and  to 
consecrate  a  few  lines  to  the  generous 
nobleman  who  had  been  pleased  to  take 
a  thousand  copies  of  a  pretended  poli- 
tical pamphlet :  M.  Reteau  we  say,  was 
j  congratulating  himself  on  having  so  for- 
tunately become  acquainted  with  him, 
when  another  ring  was  heard  from  the 
court  yard  gate. 

4  Another  thousand  copies!'  cried 
Aldegonde,  stimulated  by  the  first  suc- 
cess;  4  ah,  sir,  it  is  not  astonishing, 
as  the  paper  is  about  the  Austrian,  all 
the  world  will  join  in  chorus.' 

1  Silence  !  silence  !  Aldegonde,  do 
not  speak  so  loud  ;  the  Austrian  !  that  is 
an  insult  which  would,  indeed,  send  me 
to  the  Bastille,  as  you  predicted.' 

4  Well !  what !'  cried  the  old  woman 
tartly,  '  is  she  or  is  she  not  an  Austrian 
woman?' 

4  It  is  a  word  which  we  newspaper 
editors  have  put  in  circulation,  but 
which  must  not  be  used  too  prodigally.' 

Another  ring  at  the  bell. 

'  Go  and  see  who  it  is  Aldegonde,  I 
do  not  think  it  is  any  one  to  buy  papers.' 

4  And  what  makes  you  believe  that  ?' 
said  the  old  woman  as  she  went  down 
stairs. 

4 1  do  not  know  ;  but  the  man  who  is 
at  the  gate  appears  to  me  to  have  rather 
a  scowling  face.' 

Aldegonde  continued  descending  th» 
stairs  to  go  to  the  gate. 

M.  Reteau  was  looking  from  his  win- 
dow, and  with  an  anxiety  which  will  be 
readily  understood  from  the  description 
we  lnive  given  of  his  person  and  hia 
habits. 

Aldegonde  opened  the  gate  in  fact, 
to  a  man  plainly  dressed,  who  enquired 
whether  the  editor  of  the  gazette  could 
be  seen. 

4  What  have  you  to  say  to  him  ?'  de- 
manded Aldegonde,  somewhat  mistrust- 
fully. 

And  she  held  the  gate  njar  ready  to 
clap  it  to  again  on  the  slightest  appear- 
ance  of  danger. 

The  man  jingled  some  crowns  in  his 
pocket.  This  metallic  sound  warmed 
the  heart  of  the  old  woman. 


MYSTERIES  OF  THE  COURT  or  i.ol'TS   XVI 


151 


•  I  come,'  said  he,  'to  pny  for  a  thou- 
sand copies  of  to-day's  paper,  which 
have  been  fetched  in  the  name  of  the 
Cpunt  de  Cagliostro.' 

4  Oh  !  if  that  is  the  case,  come  in.' 

The  man  passed  through  the  gate, 
but  had  not  closed  it  again,  before 
another  visitor  who  was  behind  him,  a 
young,  tall  and  handsome  man,  pushed 
the  gate,  saying : 

'  Allow  me,  sir.' 

And  without  asking  farther  permis- 
sion, he  slipped  in  behind  the  person 
Bent  by  the  Count  de  Cagliostro. 

Aldegonde  intent  only  on  the  idea  of 
gain,  fascinated  by  the  sound  of  the 
crown  pieces,  hurried  on  to  her  master. 

'  Come,  come.'  cried  she,  '  all  is 
right ;  here  is  a  gentleman  with  five 
hundred  livres  for  the  thousand'  copies. 

'  Let  us  receive  him  nobly,'  said 
Reteau  parodyzing  Larive  in  his  last 
play. 

And  he  put  on  a  tolerably  handsome 
dressing  gown,  for  which  he  was  in- 
debted to  the  munificence  or  rather  to 
the  fears  of  Madame  Dugazon,  from 
whom  since  her  adventure  with  Astley 
the  equestrian,  the  gazetteer  managed 
to  extract  numerous  presents  of  all  de- 
scriptions. 

The  person  from  the  Count  de  Cag- 
liostro presented  himself,  took  out  a 
email  bag  of  six  livre  pieces,  counted 
out  one  hundred  of  them,  which  he  pil- 
ed up  in  twelve  heaps. 

Reteau  counted  them  carefully,  and 
examined  them  to  ascertain  that  they 
were  of  full  weight. 

At  length,  having  found  the  number 
exact,  he  thanked  the  person,  gave  him 
a  receipt,  and  dismiased  him  with  an 
agreeable  smile,  after  asking  him  with 
a  cunning  look,  as  to  the  state  of  the 
Count  de  Cagliostro'a  health. 

The  man  replied,  thanking  him  for 
is  inquiries,  as  if  they  had  been  per- 
fectly natural,  and  withdrew. 

'Tell  the  Count,'  said  Reteau,  'that 
I  shall  always  attend  to  his  suggestions, 
and  addjhat  he  may  be  assured,  I  know 
how  to  keep  a  secret.' 

'That  is  not  necessary,'  replied  the 
payer  ;  '  the  Count  de  Cagliostro  is  in- 
dependent ;  he  does  not  believe  in  mag- 
netism ;  he  wishes  that  people  should 
laugh  at  M.  Mesmer,  and  gives  cur- 
rency to  the  adventure  of  the  vat  for 
his  own  amusement.' 

''Tis  well,'  murmured  a  voice  from 
the  threshold  of  the  door,  '  and  we  will 
endeavor  to  make  people  laugh,  also,  at 
the  expense  of  M.  de  Cagliostro.' 


And  M.  Reteau  saw  a  person  ad- 
vancing into  his  room  with  it  face  that 
appeared  to  him  even  more  scowling 
than  the  first. 

He  was,  as  we  said,  a  young  and 
powerful  man,  but  Rete.au  was  not  at 
all  of  the  same  opinion  with  ourselves, 
with  regard  ft>  his  good  looks. 

He  thought  that  his  eyes  were  threat- 
ening, and  his  depoi'tment  of  a  most 
feari'ul  nature. 

And,  in  fact,  one  of  his  hands  grasped 
the  hilt  -of  his  sword,  while  the  other 
wielded  a  ponderous  cane. 

•  What   is   there   I  can  do  to   serve 
you,  sir?'  inquired  Reteau,  ^with  a  sort 
of  nervous    trembling,    which    always 
seized  him  when  in  an  awkward  di- 
lemma. 

And  as  these  dilemmas  were  not  of 
very  rare  occurrence,  it  happened  that 
Reteau  often  trembled. 

'  M.  Reteau  ?'  said  the  unknown. 

'That  is  my  name.' 

•  And  who  styles   himself  Reteau  de 
Villette  ?' 

'  The  same,  sir.' 

'  Gazetteer  ?' 

'  It  is  myself,  sir.' 

'  Author  of  this  article  ?'  coldly  said 
the  unknown,  raking  from  his  pocket  a 
number  of  the  paper  of  that  day,  still 
damp. 

'I  am,  in  fact,  not  the  author  of  that 
article.'  said  Reteau,  '  but  the  pub- 
lisher.' 

'  Very  well,  for  that  is  precisely  the 
same  thing  ;  for  if  you  have  not  had  the 
courage  to  write  the  article,  you  have 
hud  the  cowardice  to  allow  it  to  ap- 
pear.' 

•  Sir,  be  more  careful  of  your  expres- 
sions,' said  Reteau,  endeavoring  to  look 
fierce. 

'  1  say  cowardice.'  rejoined  the  un- 
known with  perfect  coolness,  '  because 
being  a  gentleman  I  desire  to  measure 
my  expressions — even  in  this  miserable 
hole,  for  what  I  say  does  not  fully  ex- 
press my  thoughts.  Were  I  to  give 
utterance  to  my  thoughts  I  should  say  : 
the  person  who  wrote  this  article  is  an 
infamous  scoundrel,  the  one  who  pub- 
lished it  a  miserable  wretch.' 

4  Sir !'  cried  Reteau,  turning  very 
pale. 

'  Ah  !  this  is  a  very  bad  affair,  it  is 
true,'  continued  the  young  man.  wnx- 
ing  warmer  by  degrees  as  he  proceed- 
ed. 'But  hark  ye,  M.  Reviewer,  every 
thing  has  its  turn  ;  just  now  you  re- 
ceived the  crown  pieces,  but  now  you 
are  about  to  receive  a  sound  beating.' 


152 


THE  QUEEN'S  NECKLACE;  OR,  THE 


•  Oh  T  exclaimed  Retean,  '  we  shall 
tee  that.' 

1  And  what  shall  we  see  ?'  cried  the 
young  man  in  a  sharp  and  military  tone, 
at  the  same  time  advancing  towards  his 
adversary. 

But  this  was  not,  for  the  latter,  the 
first  affair  of  the  kind  in  which  he  had 
been  engaged  ;  he  knew  the  contrivan- 
ces of  his  own  house  ;  he  had  only  to 
turn  round  to  find  a  door,  pass  through 
it,  close  it  behind  him  and  bar  it,  make 
it;serve  him  as  a  shield,  and  then  gain 
an  adjacent  room  in  which  was  the  fa- 
mous escape  door  opening  into  the  Rue 
des  Vieux  Augustins. 

Once  there  he  was  in  safety  ;  there 
he  would  find  another  small  gate,  when 
by  turning  a  key — and  the  key  was  al- 
ways ready,  he  could  open  it  and  save 
himself  by  making  good  use  of  his  legs. 

But  that  day  was  an  inauspicious  one 
to  the  poor  gazetteer,  for  at  the  mo- 
ment he  placed  his  hand  upon  that  key, 
he  perceived  another  man  at  the  oppo- 
site end  of  the  passage,  who,  rendered 
colossal  by  the  agitation  of  his  senses, 
appeared  to  Reteau  a  very  Hercules, 
and  who  motionless,  threatening,  ap- 
peared to  be  awaiting,  as  did  in  former 
days  the  dragon  of  the  garden  of  the 
Hesperides  for  the  devourers  of  the 
golden  apples. 

Reteau  would  have  willingly  retraced 
his  steps,  but  the  young  man  with  the 
cane,  he  who  had  .first  presented  him- 
self to  his  affrighted  eyes,  had  burst  in 
the  door  with  a  vigorous  kick,  had  fol- 
lowed him,  and  now  that  he  was  stop- 
ped by  this  other  sentinel,  armed  also 
with  a  sword  and  cane,  he  had  only  to 
stretch  forth  his  hand  to  seize  him. 

Reteau  thus  found  himself  between 
two  fires,  or  rather  between  two  cnnes,  in 
a  sort  of  dark  alley,  situated  between  the 
last  room  of  his  apartment  and  the 
thrice  fortunate  gate  opening  upon  the 
Rue  des  Vieux  Augustins,  that  is  to 
say,  if  the  passage  had  been  free,  on 
liberty  and  safety. 

1  Sir,  I  beg  you  will  allow  me  to  pass,' 
said  Reteau  to  the  young  man  who 
guarded  the  gate. 

'  Sir,'  cried  the  young  man  who  was 
pursuing  Reteau,  '  sir,  stop  that  miser- 
able wretch.' 

'  Make  yourself  perfectly  easy,  Mon- 
sieur de  Charny,  he  nhall  not  pass,' 
replied  the  young  man  at  the  gate. 

'  Monsieur  de  Taverney,  can  it  be 
you,'  cried  Charny,  tor  it  was  in  fact 
the  latter  wlio  had  first  presented  him- 
self at  Reteau's,  slipping  in  behind  tin- 


man who  had  paid  him,  and  who  had 
entered  the  house  from  the  Rue  Mon- 
torgueil. 

They  had  both,  on  reading  the  ga- 
zette that  morning,  come  to  the  same 
determination,  because  their  hearts 
were  imbued  with  the  same  feelings, 
and  thus,  without  having  communicated 
with,  or  even  seen  each  other,  had  car- 
ried their  idea  into  execution. 

And  this  was  to  go  :t»  the  house  of 
the  gazetteer,  demand  satisfaction  of 
him,  and  in  case  of  refusal,  to  give  him 
a  sound  caning. 

Only  that  each  of  them,  on  first  per- 
ceiving the  other,  experienced  a  feel- 
ing of  ill  humor;  each  of  them  con- 
ceived the  other  to  be  a  rival  from  his 
having  entertained  precisely  the  same 
feelings  as  himself. 

Therefore,  it  was  in  rather  a  rough 
tone  that  M.  de  Charny  pronounced  the 
words, 

'  Monsieur  de  Taverney,  can  it  be 
j  you  ?' 

'Myself,'    replied   Philippe,   in   the 
same  tone  of  voice,  and  making  a  move- 
ment on  his  side  towards  the  supplicat- 
ing gazetteer,  who  had  put  both  his 
arrrs  through  the  iron  rails  of  the  gate, 
!  '  but  it  appears  I  have  arrived  too  late. 
i  Well,  then  !  I  shall  only  be  a  spectator 
i  of  the  game,   unless,   indeed,  you  will 
!  have  the  goodness  to  open  this  gate  for 
I  me.' 

'  The  game  ."  cried  the  terrified  ga- 
zetteer;   'the   game!    what    are    you 
i  speaking  of?    Are  you  going  to  cut  my 
i  throat,  gentlemen  ?' 

'Oh!'  said   Charny,  « the  expression 

i  is  rather  strong.     No,  sir,  we  will  not 

cut  your  throat,   but  we  will  question 

I  you,    and   afterwards   shall  see.     You 

I  will  allow  me  to  use  this  man  as  I  may 

think  fit,  will  you  not,  Monsieur  de  Ta- 

j  verney  ?' 

'  Assuredly,  sir,'  replied  Philippe,  '  it 
is  your  turn  first,  having  been  the  first 
to  arrive.' 

'There,  then,  stick  yourself  against 
the  wall,  and  do  not  stir  an  inch,'  said 
Charny  to  Reteau,  after  thanking  de 
Taverney  by  a  gesture.  '  You  acknow- 
ledge, then,  my  dear  sir,  that  yon  have 
written  and  published  against  the  queen 
that  comic  tale,  for  so  you  term  it, 
which  appeared  in  your  gazette  this 
morning  ?' 

'  Sir,  it  is  not  against  the  queen.' 
'  Ah  !  good,  it  wanted  only  that — ' 
'  Oh  !   you   are   remarkably   patient, 
sir,'  said  Philippe,    foaming  with  rage 
1  on  the  farther  side  of  the  gate. 


MYSTERIES  OF  THE  COURT  OF  LOUIS  XVI. 


153 


'  Do  not  make  yourself  uneasy,'  re- 
plied Charny,  '  the  fellow  will  lose  no- 
thing by  waiting.' 

'  Yes,'  muttered  Philippe,  '  but  re- 
collect that  I  am  waiting  also.'  - 

Charny  did  not  reply,  at  least  to  Ta- 
vcrney. 

But,  turning  towards  the  unlucky 
Retoau, 

4  Etteniotna,  is  Antoinette  reversed. 
Oh !  do  not  lie,  air — it  would  be  so  etu- 
pid,  and  at  the  same  time  so  baee,  that 
instead  of  beating  you  or  killing  you  in 
a  decent  manner,  I  should  flay  you 
alive.  Therefore,  reply,  and  categori- 
cally. I  usk  you  whether  you  are 
the  sole  author  of  this  pamphlet?' 

•  I    am    not    an    informer,'    replied 
Reteau,  drawing  himself  up. 

4  Very  well !  that  means  to  say,  that 
there  is  an  accomplice  ;  and,  first  of 
all,  the  mmi  who  sent  to  purchase  a 
thousand  copies  of  this  diatribe,  the 
Count  de  Cagliostro,  as  you  just  now 
called  him,  he  must  be  the  person. 
Well,  be  it  so !  the  Count  will  have  to 
pay  his  share  when  you  shall  have  paid 
yours/ 

'Sir,  sir,  I  do  not  accuse  him,'  howl- 
.  ed  the  gazetteer,  fearing  to  expose 
himself  to  the  anger  of  these  two  men, 
without  counting  that  of  Philippe,  pale 
with  rage,  on  the  other  side  of  the 
gate. 

*  But,'  continued  Charny,  '  as  I  have 
got  hold  of  you  first,  you  shall  be  the 
first  to  pny.' 

And  he  raised  his  cane. 

'  Sir,  if  I  hud  but  a  sword,'  shrieked 
the  gazetteer. 

Charny  lowered  his  cane. 

'  M.  de  Taverney,'  said  he,  '  lend 
your  sword  to  this  rascal,  I  beg  of 
you.' 

•Oh!  by  no  means;  I  do  not  lend 
my  houest  blade  to  such  a  fellow ;  here 
is  my  cane,  if  yours  is  not  sufficient. — 
But  I  cannot  conscientiously  do  more 
than  this  for  either  him  or  y»u.' 

'  Zounds  !  a  cane,'  cried  Reteau,  ex- 
asperated, '  do  you  know,  sir,  that  I  am 
a  gentleman  ?' 

•Then,  lend  your  sword  to  me,'  said 
Charny,  '  and  my  only  course  will  bo 
never  to  touch  this  one  again.' 

And  he  threw  his  sword  at  the  feet 
of  Reteau,  who  looked  pale  as  death. 

Philippe  could  make  no  farther  ob- 
jection. He  drew  his  sword  from  its 
•cabbard  and  handed  it  through  the  iron 
gate  to  Charny. 

Charny  took  it,  bowing  to  him. 

4  Ah  !  you^are  a  gentleman,  are  you  ?' 
20 


said  he,  turning  toward  Reteau,  *  you 
are  a  gentleman  and  you  write  such  in- 
famous lies  against  the  queen  of  France! 
Well,  there,  pick  up  that  sword  and 
prove  that  you  are  a  gentleman.' 

Btat  Reteau  did  not  stir ;  it  might 
ha^ie  been  thought  that  he  had  as  much 
fertr  of  the  sword  which  lay  at  his  feet 
as  of  the  cane  which  a  few  momenta 
before  had  been  held  over  his  head. 

'  Confound  it !'  cried  Philippe,  exas- 
perated, 'open  the  gate  for  me.' 

'Your  pardon,  sir,'  said  Charny, '  but 
you  agreed  that  this  man,  in  the  first 
place  belonged  to  me.' 

•  Then  get  through  quickly  with  him, 
for  I  am  in  a  hurry  to  begin.' 

4  It  was  necessary  thatl  should  first  ex- 
haust every  other  means  before  adopt- 
ing this  extreme  measure,'  said  Charny, 
'  for  I  am  of  opinion  that  blows  with  a 
cane  are  almost  as  painful  to  the  giver 
as  to  the  receiver  ;  but  since  this  gentle- 
man decidedly  prefers  blows  from  a 
cane  to  a  thrust  with  a  sword,  be  it  so, 
he  shall  be  served  to  his  heart's  con- 

These  words  were  scarcely  uttered, 
before  a  shriek  from  Reteau  announced 
that  Charny  had  suited  the  action  to 
the  word. 

Five  or  six  blows  vigorously  applied, 
eacli  of  which  drew  from  the  sufferer 
a  cry  equivalent  to  the  pain  that  it  in- 
flicted, followed  in  quick  succession. 

These  cries  soon  brought  in  old  Al- 
degonde,  but  Charny  paid  as  little  at- 
tention to  her  shrieks  as  he  did  to  those 
of  her  master. 

During  this  time,  Philippe  placed 
like  Adam  outside  the  gate  of  Paradise, 
ground  his  teeth  from  mer*e  rage,  and 
danced  about  like  a  bear  who  smells  the 
fresh  meat  placed  before  the  bars  of  his 
cage. 

At  length  Charny  paused,  tired  with 
having  beaten.  and  Retc.ui  threw  him- 
self on  the  ground  tired  of  being  thrash- 
ed. 

'There!'  said  Philippe,  'have  yon 
done  now,  sir  .'' 

'Yes.'  said  Charny. 

'  Well,  then,  now  return  my  sword, 
which  has  been  useless  to  you.  and 
open  the  gate  I  beg  of  you.' 

*Oh!  sir,  sir,'  implored  Reteau,  who 
saw  a  defender  in  the  man  who  had 
just  settled  accounts  with  him. 

•  You  must  understand  that  I  cannot 
allow   this    gentleman    to  remain   any 
longer  outside  the  gate,'   said  Charny, 
•  I  shall  therefore  open  it.' 

1  Oh .'    this    is    downright    murder,' 


154 


THE  QUEEN'S  NECKLACE;  OR,  THE 


cried  Reteau ;  •  come  now,  kill  me  at 
once  with  your  sword  and  let  it  be  end- 
ed at  one  blow.' 

'Oh  !  as  to  that,'  replied  Charny,  'you 
may  now  rest  easy ;  I  believe  this  gen- 
tleman will  not  even  touch  you.' 

'  And  you  are  right,'  said  Philippe, 
with  sovereign  contempt.  '  I  have  not 
that  intention,  you  have  been  thrashed 
— 'tis  well,  but  as  the  legal  axiom  has  it : 
Non  bis  in  idem.  But  there  are  num- 
bers of  the  edition  still  remaining  and  it 
Is  important  these  numbers  should  be 
destroyed.' 

'Oh!  that  is  right."  said  Charny, 
'  you  see  that  two  heads  are  always 
better  than  one.  1  should  perhaps  have 
forgotten  that ;  but  by  what  chance  did 
you  get  to  this  door,  M.  de  Taverney.' 

'  I  will  tell  you,'  said  Philippe,  '  I  in- 
quired in  the  neighborhood  as  to  the 
habits  of  this  scoundrel,  I  was  told  that 
it  was  his  custom  to  run  away  whenev- 
er he  was  closely  pressed.  Then,  I 
asked  as  to  his  methods  of  escape  and  I 
thorght  that  by  gaining  admission 
through  the  secret  gate  instead  of  pre- 
senting myself  at  the  usual  one,  and  by 
closing  this  gate  after  me,  I  should  catch 
the  fox  in  his  earth.  The  same  idea  of 
revenge  suggested  itself  to  you,  only 
being  in  more  haste  than  I  was,  your 
information  was  not  so  complete  ;  you 
came  in  by  the  public  gate,  and  he 
would  have  escaped  you  when  fortu- 
nately you  found  me  here.' 

'  And  I  congratulate  myself  that  it  so 
happened.  Come,  Monsieur  de  Taver- 
ney, this  fellow  will  conduct  us  to  his 
press-room.' 

'  But  the  printing  press  is  not  here,' 
said  Reteau? 

'  Another  lie,'  cried  Charny,  threat- 
eningly. 

'No,  no,'  cried  PKilippe,  'he  is,  most 
likely,  right  in  this,  for  the  type  must 
be  already  distributed,  and  there  is  no- 
thing more  than  the  edition.  Now, 
the  edition  must  be  very  nearly  com- 
plete, except  the  thousand  sold  to  M. 
de  Cagliostro.' 

'  Then  he  shall  tear  up  the  edition  in 
our  presence.' 

'  He  shall  burn  it ;  that  will  be  more 
sure.' 

And  Philippe,  determined  on  this 
mode  of  satisfaction,  pushed  Reteau  on 
before  him,  and  they  all  went  towards 
the  shop. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

HOW  TWO  FRIENDS  BECOME  ENEMIES. 

HOWEVER,  Aldegonde  having  heard 
her  master's  cries,  aud  finding  the  door 
closed,  had  gone  off  to  call  the  guard. 

But,  before  she  returned,  Philippe 
and  Charny  had  time  enongh  to  make 
a  blazing  fire  of  the  first  numbers  of  the 
gazette,  and  afterwards  kept  tearing  the 
others  and  throwing  them  into  the  de- 
vouring flames. 

The  two  executioners  were  at  the 
last  numbers,  when  the  guard  made  its 
appearance,  with  Aldegonde,  at  the  end 
of  the  court ;  and  the  guard  was  ac- 
companied by  a  hundred  blackguard 
boys  and  as  many  old  gossips  of  the 
neighborhood. 

The  first  musket  struck  on  the  stone 
pavement1  of  the  vestibule  when  the 
last  number  of  the  gazette  began  to 
burn. 

Fortunately,  Philippe  and  Charny 
knew  how  to  secure  their  retreat  by 
the  way  which  Reteau  had  so  impru- 
dently shown  them ;  they,  therefore, 
hurried  through  the  secret  passage, 
fastening  the  bolts  as  they  passed,  got 
through  the  gate  that  led  into  the  Rue 
des  Vieux-Augustins,  double  locked 
the  ga^e,  and  threw  the  key  of  it  into 
the  first  drain  they  found  in  their  way. 

During  this  time  Reteau,  being  once 

|  more   at  liberty,    cried   lustily,   '  help  ! 

!  help  !    murder  !  assassination,'  and  Al- 

I  degonde,    who  saw  the   blazing  of  the 

newspapers  through  the  windows,  cried 

'  fire  !  fire  !' 

The  fusileers  at  length  reached  the 
room  ;  but  as  they  found  that  the  two 
young  assailants  were  gone,  and  the 
fire  about  to  go  out,  they  did  not  think 
it  necessary  to  pursue  their  researches 
any  further  ;  they  left  Reteau,  that  he 
might  proceed  to  have  his  back  bathed 
with  spirits  of  camphor,  and  withdrew 
to  their  own  guard-room. 

But  the  crowd,  always  more  curious 
than  the  guard,  remained  till  noon  in 
M.  Reteau's  court,  in  the  anxious  hope 
that  the  scene  of  the  morning  might  be 
renewed. 

Aldegonde,  in  her  despair,  vented 
curses,  not  loud  but  deep,  against  the 
name  of  Marie  Antoinette,  and  bless- 
ings on  that  of  M.  de  Cagliostro,  whom 
she  called  the  patron  of  letters. 

When  Taverney  and  Charny  had 
reached  the  rue  der  Vieux  August  ins, 

1  Sir,'  said  Charny.  •  now  that  we 
have  completed  our  execution,  may  I 


MYSTERIES  OF  THE  COURT  OF  LOUIS  XVI. 


155 


hope  to  have  the  happiness  of  being 
useful  to  you  in  some  way  ?' 

4  A  thousand  thanks,  sir,  I  was  about 
to  make  you  the  same  offer.' 

4 1  thank  you ;  I  had  come  to  Paris 
for  some  private  matters  which  will 
probably  detain  me  a  good  part  of  the 
day.' 

'  And  I  also,  sir.' 

4  Permit  me  then  to  take  leave  of  you, 
and  to  congratulate  myself  on  the  honor 
and  happiness  I  have  had  in  meeting 
you.' 

4  Permit  me  also  to  pay  you  the  same 
compliment,  and  to  add  to  it  my  sincere 
desire  that  the  affair  which  has  brought 
you  here  may  be  accomplished  accord- 
ing to  your  wishes.' 

And  the  two  young  men  bowed  to 
each  other  with  smiling  courteousness 
through  which  could  easily  be  discern- 
ed, that  all  the  civil  words  they  had  ex- 
changed proceeded  only  from  their  lips. 

On  leaving  each  other  they  took  op- 
posite directions,  Philippe  ascending 
the  street  towards  the  boulevards,  and 
Charny  descending  it  towards  the 
river. 

They  both  turned  round  two  or  three 
times,  until  they  lost  sight  of  each  oth- 
er, and  then  Charny,  who,  as  we  have 
said,  went  in  the  direction  of  the  river, 
turned  up  the  rue  Beaurepaire,  then, 
after  the  rue  Beaurepaire,  the  rue  du 
Renard,  then  the  rue  du  Grand  Hur- 
leur,  the  rue  Jean  Robert,  the  rue  des 
Graviliers,  the  rue  Pastourel,  the  rue 
d'Anjou,  those  of  the  Perche  Culture- 
Sainte-Catherine,  of  Saint-Anartuse  and 
Saint-Louis. 

When  he  reached  the  latter  he  went 
down  the  rue  Saint-Louis  and  hasten- 
ed on  towards  the  rue  Neuve-Saint- 
Gilles. 

But  as  he  approached  it,  his  eyes 
were  attracted  by  the  form  of  a  young 
man  who  was  ascending  the  rue  Saint- 
Louis,  and  whom  he  thought  he  recog- 
nized. Two  or  three  times  he  paused 
as  if  in  doubt,  but  all  doubt  was  soon 
dispelled.  The  person  who  was  ascend- 
ing the  street  was  Philippe  de  Taver- 
ney. 

Philippe,  who,  on  his  side,  had  gone 
by  the  rue  Mauconseil,  the  rue  aux 
Ours,  the  rue  du  Grenier  Saint-Lazare, 
the  rue  Michel-le-Comte,  the  rue  des 
Vieilles-Andriettes,  the  rue  de  1'Hom- 
me-Arme,  the  rue  des  Rosiero,  had 
passed  before  the  hotel  de  Lamoignon, 
and  at  last  had  come  out  into  the  rue 
Saint-Louis,  at  the  corner  of  the  rue  de 
1'Egout-Sainte-Catherine. 


The  two  young  men  met  at  the  en- 
trance of  the  rue  Neuve-Saint-Gilles. 

They  both  stopped  and  looked  at 
each  other  with  eyes,  which  on  this  oc- 
casion did  not  take  the  trouble  to  con- 
ceal their  thought. 

Each  of  them  had,  as  before,  hit  upon 
the  same  idea;  it  was  that  of  demand- V 
ing   satisfaction  of  the  Count  de   Cag- 
liostro. 

And  meeting*  thus,  neither  the  one 
nor  the  other  could  doubt  the  intention 
which  had  led  them  thus  to  the  same 
spot. 

4  Monsieur  de  Charny,'  said  Philippe, 
4 1  left  you  the  vendor,  you  ought  in 
good  sooth  to  leave  me  the  purchaser.  I 
let  you  inflict  the  blows  with  the  cane, 
let  me  administer  the  sword  thrusts.' 

4  Sir,'  replied  Charny,  4  you  behaved 
so  politely  to  me,  I  believe,  because  I 
was  the  first  comer,  and  not  for  any 
other  reason.' 

4  Yes,  but  here,'  observed  Taverney, 
4 1  arrive  at  the  same  moment  with 
yourself,  and,  I  tell  you  plainly  and  at 
once,  here  I  cannot  make  you  any  con- 
cession.' 

4  And  who  tells  you  that  T  ask  for  any, 
sir,  I  will  maintain  my  right,  that'* 
all.' 

4  And  in  your  opinion,  M.  de  Charny, 
your  right  is — ' 

4  To  make  M,  de  Cagliostro  burn  the 
thousand  copies  which  he  purchased 
of  that  scoundrel.' 

1  You  will  please  to  remember,  sir, 
that  it  was  I  who  first  suggested  the 
idea  of  burning  those  in  the  rue  Mon- 
torgueil.' 

'  Well,  agreed  ;  you  had  them  burned 
in  the  rue  Montorgueil,  and  I  will  have 
them  torn  up  in  the  rue  Neuve-Saint- 
Gilles.' 

'Sir,  I  am  very  sorry  to  be  obliged 
to  tell  you  that  I  very  seriously  desire 
to  be  the  first  to  call  Count  Cagliostro 
to  account.' 

•  All  that  I  can  do  for  you  in  this  mat- 
ter, sir,  is  to  allow  fate  to  decide  be- 
tween us  ;  1  will  throw  up  a  louis,  and 
he  who  wins  shall  have  the  priority.' 

4 1  thank  you,  sir,  but  I  am  in  gener- 
al very  unlucky,  and  I  might  be  so  un- 
fortunate as  to  lose.' 

And  Philippe  walked  on  a  step. 

Charny  stopped  him. 

4  Sir,'  said  he,  4  one  word,  and  I  be- 
lieve we  shall  then  understand  each 
other. 

Philippe  eagerly  turned  round.  There 
was  a  tone  of  menace  in  Charny's  voice 
which  pleased  him. 


156 


THE  QUEEN'S  NECKLACE;    OR,  THE 


•  Ah  !'  cried  he,  '  be  it  so.' 

»If,  in  order  to  call  on  M.  de  Cagli- 
ostro,  to  demand  satisfaction  of  him, 
we  were  to  pass  through  the  Bois  de 
Boulogne  ;  if  is  the  longest  way,  I  know 
that  full  well,  but  it  would,  I  believe, 
be  the  best  mode  of  terminating  our 
difference.  One  of  us  would  probably 
remain  on  the  road,  and  the  one  who 
returns  would  not  be  accountable  to 
any  one.' 

'  Really,    sir,'    said   Philippe,     '  you 
merely   anticipate    my   thought  ;    yes, 
that -indeed  would  conciliate  everything.  , 
Would  you  please  to  say  where  we  shall 
meet  again.' 

'  Why,  if  my  society  is  not  insup- 
portable to  you,  sir — ' 

•  How  can  you  even  imagine  that —  V 
'  We  need  not  separate  at  all.     I  or- 
dered my   carriage  to  meet  me  at  the 
Place  Royale,  and,  as  you   know,  it  is 
only  two  steps  from  this.' 

'  Then,  you  will  have  the  kindness  to 

.,  -tr    * 

allow  me  to  take  a  seat  in  it. 

'  Assuredly,  and  with  the  greatest 
pleasure.' 

And  the  two  young  men  who,  from  j 
the  -first   glance,    felt  that   they   were 
rivals,  had  become  enemies  on  the  very 
first  opportunity,  and  now  hastened  with 
lengthened   steps   towards    the    Place 
Royale.    They  perceived  Charny's  car- 
riage standing  at  the  corner  of  the  Rue  I 
Pas-de-la-Mule. 

Without  giving  himself  the  trouble  to 
go  any  further,  Charny  made  a  sign  to 
his  footman.  The  carriage  crossed  the 
square,  and  Charny  invited  Philippe  to 
get  in.  The  carnage  then  drove  off  in 
the  direction  of  the  Champs  Elysees. 

Before    getting    into    the    carriage,  | 
Charny  had  written  two  words  on  his 
tablets,  and  had  desired  his  footmen  to 
carry  them  to  the  hotel  he  lived  at  in 
Paris. 

M.  de  Charny's  horses  were  excel- 
lent ;  in  less  than  half  an  hour  they 
reached  the  Bois  de  Boulogne. 

Charny  ordered  his  coachman  to  stop 
when  they  had  reached  a  convenient 
spot  in  the  wood. 

The  weather  was  fine,  the  air  rather 
keen ;  but  the  power  of  the  sun  was 
already  so  considerable,  that  the  violets 
were  exhaling  their  first  perfumes,  as 
well  as  the  young  shoots  of  the  elder- 
trees  on  the  border  of  the  wood. 

Above  the  yellow  leaves  of  the  pre- 
ceding year,  the  grass  was  rising  proud- 
ly ornamented  by  its  waving  plumes  of ; 
seeds  ;  and  the  wall-flowers  were  hang- , 


ing  their  perfumed  heads  from  many  an 
old  wall. 

'  It  is  fine  weather  for  a  walk,  is  it 
not,  M.  deTaverney?'  said  Charny. 

'  Yes,  the  weather  is  fine,  sir.' 

And  they  both  alighted  from  the  car- 
riage. 

'  You  can  go  home,'  said  Charny  ,to 
his  coachman. 

'Sir,'  said  Taverney,  '  you  are  perhaps 
wrong  in  sending  away  your  carriage. 
One  of  us  ma}'  stand  much  in  need  of 
it  to  return.' 

'  In  this  affair,  that  which  is  most  ne- 
cessary is  secresy ;  secresy,  above  ail  ; 
to  confide  it  to  a  servant,  would  be  to 
render  it  the  subject  of  conversation  to 
all  Paris  by  to-morrow  morning.' 

'Precisely  as  you  please,  sir;  but 
the  fellow  who  has  driven  us  here  is' 
very  well  aware  of  our  intention. 
These  people  are  too  conversant  with 
the  habits  of  gentlemen,  not  to  imagine 
at  once,  when  they  are  ordered  to  drive 
either  to  the  Bois  de  Boulogne,  to  Vin 
cennes,  or  to  Satory,  and  at  the  pace  at 
which  he  brought  us  here,  that  our  bu- 
siness is  not  merely  to  take  a  walk. 
Therefore,  I  repeat,  your  coachman 
knows  well  what  to  think  of  this  ;  but, 
even  admitting  that  he  does  not  know 
it,  he  will  hear  that  either  I  or  you 
have  been  wounded  or  perhaps  killed, 
and  that  will  be  enough  for  him  to  un- 
derstand it  all,  although  it  would  be 
rather  late.  Would  it  not  be  better  to 
keep  him,  to  take  back  the  one  who 
could  not  get  back  without  assistance, 
than  for  you  to  remain,  or  to  leave  me, 
in  so  embarrassing  a  solitude  ?' 

'  It  is  you  that  are  right,'  replied 
Charny.  Then,  turning  towards  the 
coachman, 

'  Dauphin,'  cried  he,  '  stop !  wait  for 
us  here  ." 

Davphin  had  imagined  that  he  would 
be  called  back,  and  had  very  leisurely 
made  a  long  sweep  to  turn  the  carriage, 
and  consequently  had  remained  within 
hail.  He  stopped  immediately,  and,  as 
Philippe  had  foreseen,  he  had  some 
suspicion  of  what  was  going  forward, 
for  he  placed  himself  in  a  position  to 
have  a  view  of  every  thing  through  the 
branches  of  the  trees,  which  were  still 
almost  void  of  leaves. 

However,  Philippe  and  Charny,  by 
degrees,  gained  nearly  the  centre  of  the 
wood  ;  in  ten  minutes  they  were  con- 
cealed, or  nearly  so,  from  the  inquisi- 
tive eyes  of  any  casual  paaser-by. 

Philippe,  who  walked  first,  at  last 
found  a  dry  place,  firm  beneath  th* 


MYSTERIES  OF  THE  COURT  OF  LOUIS  XVI. 


157 


feet ;  it  was  an  oblong  square,  admira- 
bly well  adapted  to  the  purpose  the 
young  men  had  in  view. 

'  Unless  you  should  think  otherwise, 
Monsieur  de  Charny,'  said  Philippe,  '  it 
appears  to  me  that  this  is  a  convenient 
spot.' 

'  An  excellent  one,'  replied  Charny, 
taking  off  his  coat. 

Philippe,  in  his  turn,  took  off  his  coat, 
threw  his  hat  upon  the  ground,  and 
drew  his  sword. 

4  Sir,"  said  Charny,  whose  sword  was 
etill  in  the  scabbard,  '  to  any  one  but 
yourself,  I  should  say,  Chevalier,  a  word 
if  not  of  apology,  at  all  events  of  kind- 
ness, and  we  will  be  good  friends ;  but 
to  you,  to  a  brave  soldier  just  arrived 
from  America,  that  is  to  say  from  a 
country  where  they  fight  so  well,  I  can- 
not—' 

4  And  I,  to  any  other,'  replied  Phi- 
lippe, '  I  would  say  ;  sir,  I  may  in  your 
eyes  have  the  appearance  of  being 
wrong ;  but  to  you,  to  that  brave  sailor 
who  only  the  other  night  was  the  ad  mira- 
tion of  the  whole  court,from  a  so  glorious 
feat  of  arms,  to  you,  Monsieur  de  Char- 
ny I  can  say  nothing  except,  Count  do 
me  the  honor  to  draw  your  sword.' 

The  Count  bowed  and  in  his  turn 
drew  his  sword. 

'  Sir,'  said  Charny,  '  I  believe  that 
we  have  neither  of  us  touched  upon  the 
real  cause  of  quarrel.' 

4 1  do  not  understand  you,  Count,'  re- 
plied Philippe. 

4  Oh  !  you  understand  me,  sir,  and 
even  perfectly  :  and  as  you  come  from 
a  country  where  people  know  not  how 
to  utter  falsehood,  you  blushed  while 
saying  that  you  did  not  understand  m».' 

4  Place  yourself  in  guard,  sir,'  said 
Philippe. 

Their  swords  crossed.  At  the  first 
pass  Philippe  found  that  he  had  a 
marked  superiority  over  his  adversary. 
But  this  certainly  instead  of  increasing 
his  ardor,  appeared  to  damp  it  altogeth- 
er. That  superiority  leaving  Philippe  in 
possession  of  all  his  sangfroid,  his  style 
of  fencing  became  as  tranquil  as  if  he 
had  been  in  a  mere  fencing  academy, 
and  that  instead  of  a  sword  he  was 
holding  only  a  foil  in  his  hand. 

He  therefore  confined  himself  to  par- 
rying, and  the  combat  had  lasted  more 
than  a  minute  without  his  'attempting 
to  give  a  single  thrust. 

4  You  are  sparing  me,'  said  Charny, 
•May  I  ask  you  for  what  reason  ?' 

And  making  a  skillful  feint  he  lunged 
furiously  at  Philippe. 


But  Philippe  wound  his  sword  round 
his  adversaries  with  a  counter  more 
rapid  than  the  feint,  and  the  thrust  was 
parried. 

Although  Taverney's  parry  had 
thrown  Charny's  sword  completely 
out  of  guard,  Taverney  did  not  thrust 
in  return. 

Charuy  made  another  lunge  which 
Philippe  again  warded  off  but  by  a  sim- 
ple parry  ;  Charny  was  compelled  rap- 
idly to  recover  himself. 

Charny  was  the  younger  of  the  two, 
and  above  all  the  most  ardent ;  feeling 
his  own  blood  boil  he  was  mortified  at 
his  antagonist's  calmness ;  he  wished 
to  compel  him  to  become  less  cool. 

4 1  told  you,  sir,  that  we  had  neither 
of  us  touched  upon  the  real  cause  of 
this  duel.' 

Philippe  did  not  reply. 

'  The  real  cause  then  I  will  now  tell 
you,  you  sought  a  quarrel  with  me,  for 
the  quarrel  began  with  you  ;  you  sought 
to  quarrel  with  me  from — sheer  jea~ 
lousy^' 

Philippe  said  not  a  word. 

•*  Come  now,'  said  Charny,  becoming 
still  more  angry  in  consequence  of  Phi- 
lippe's coolness,  '  what  game  are  you 
playing  at,  Monsieur  de  Taverney  ?  Is 
it  your  intention  to  fatigue  my  hand  ? 
That  would  be  a  calculation  altogether 
unworthy  of  you.  Zounds  !  kill  me  if 
you  can,  but  at  least  kill  me  while  I  am 
able  to  defend  myself.' 

Philippe  shook  his  head. 

4  Yes,  sir,'  he  replied,  4  the  reproach 
you  have  addressed  to  me  is  deserved. 
1  sought  a  quarrel  with  you,  and  I  am 
in  the  wrong.' 

4  That  is  not  the  question  now,  sir  ; 
you  have  a  sword  in  your  hand,  and  use 
that  sword  for  something  else  besides 
mere  parrying ;  or.  if  you  will  not  at- 
tack better,  defend  yourself  somewhat 
less.' 

'  Sir,'  rejoined  Philippe,  4 1  have  the 
honor  to  tell  you  a  second  time,  that  I 
have  been  in  the  wrong,  and  that  I  re- 
pent of  it.' 

But  Charny's  blood  was  too  much 
inflamed  to  comprehend  the  generosity 
of  his  adversary ;  he  took  it  as  an  of- 
fence. 

4  Ah  !'  cried  he,  4 1  see  it  now;  you 
wish  to  play  the  magnanimous  with 
me.  That  is  it ;  am  I  not  right,  Chev- 
alier ?  this  evening,  or  to-morrow  morn- 
ing, you  calculate  on  telling  some  beau- 
tiful ladies  that  you  came  upon  the 
ground  with  me,  and  that  you  spared 
my  life.' 


158 


THE  C^UEEViS  NECKLACE;  OK,  THE 


•  Count,'  said  Philippe,  'I  really  fear 
that  you  are  going  mad.' 

•  You  wished  to  kill  M.  de  Cagliostro, 
in   order  to  please  the  queen,  did  you 
not?     And  more  surely  still   to  please 
the  queen,  you  wish  to  kill  me  also,  but 
by  ridicule.' 

1  Ah  !  that  is  a  word  too  much !'  cried 
Philippe,  knitting  his  brow.  'And  that 
word  proves  to  me  that  your  heart  is  not 
so  generous  as  I  had  believed.' 

'  Well !  pierce  that  heart  then,'  said 
Charny,  and  at  the  moment  his  guard 
was  beat  aside  by  a  rapid  movement, 
and  Philippe  made  a  lunge  at  him 

The  sword  glanced  along  the  ribs, 
and  made  a  long  and  bleeding  furrow 
beneath  the  fine  linen  shirt. 

'At  last,' cried  Charny,  joyfully,  'I 
am  wounded;  '  and  now,  if  I  should  kill 
you,  mine  will  be  the  glorious  part.' 

'  I  now  see,  decidedly,'  said  Philippe, 
'  that  you  are  completely  mad,  sir;  you 
•will  not  kill  me,  and  your  part  will  be 
altogether  a  vulgar  one,  for  you  will  be 
wounded  without  cause  and  without 
profit,  no  one  knowing  the  reason  for 
which  we  have  fought.' 

Charny  gave  a  straightforward  thrust, 
with  such  rapidity  and  force,  that  it  was 
with  difficulty  Philippe  could  be  in  time 
to  parry  it,  but  he  did  so,  and  at  the 
same  time  twisted  his  sword  round  that 
of  Charny,  and  with  a  vigorous  jerk 
sent  it  flying  ten  paces  from  his  adver- 
sary. 

He  instantly  rushed  after  the  sword, 
and  snapped  the  blade  by  placing  his 
heel  upon  it. 

'  Monsieur  de  Charny,'  said  he,  '  it 
was  not  necessary  to  prove  to  me  that 
you  are  brave;  you  must  then  detest 
me  very  heartily  to  have  evinced  such 
ferocious  tenacity  in  fighting  with  me  ?' 

Charny  did  not  reply,  but  he  became 
paler  every  moment. 

Philippe  looked  at  him  during  some 
•econds,  awaiting  either  nn  avowal  or  a 
denial  of  this  feeling. 

'Come,  count,'  said  he,  'it  appears 
fate  has  decided  that  we  are  to  be 
enemies.'  x 

Charny  staggered.  Philippe  rushed 
towards  him  to  support  him  ;  but  the 
Count  pushed  back  his  hand. 

'  I  thank  you,'  said  he,  '  but  I  hope 
I  shall  be  nble  to  get  to  my  carriage.' 

'  Take  this  handkerchief,  at  least,  to 
«top  the  bleeding.' 

«  Willingly.' 

And  ho  took  the  handkerchief. 

'  And  my  arm,  sir;  the  slightest  ob- 
stacle you  may  meet  with,  exhausted  , 


as  you  are,  would  throw  you  down,  and 
such  a  fall  would  cause  you  great  and 
needless  pain.' 

'  The  sword  only  went  through  the 
flesh,'  said  Charny;  « I  do  not  feel  any 
pain  in  the  chest.' 

'  So  much  the  better,  sir.' 

'  And  I  hope  soon  to  be  quite  well.' 

'  So  much  the  better,  again,  sir.  But 
if  you  hasten  your  cure  from  wishing 
to  re-commence  this  combat,  I  fore- 
warn you  that  you  will  find  it;  difficult 
to  induce  me  again  to  become  your  ad- 
versary.' 

Charny  endeavored  to  reply,  but  the 
words  died  upon  his  lips;  he  again  stag- 
gered, and  Philippe  had  but  time  to 
catch  him  in  his  arms. 

Then  he  lifted  him  from  the  ground, 
as  he  would  have  done  a  child,  and  car- 
ried him,  half  fainting,  to  his  carriage. 

It  is  true  that  Dauphin,  having  seen 
all  that  had  happened,  shortened  the 
distance,  by  hastening  to  meet  his  mas- 
ter. 

They  placed  Charny  in  the  carriage, 
who  thanked  Philippe  by  an  inclination 
of  the  head. 

'  Go  very  gently,  coachman,'  said 
Philippe. 

k  But  you,  sir,'  murmured  the  wound- 
ed man. 

1  Oh !  do  not  make  yourself  uneasy 
aoout  me.' 

And  bowing  in  his  turn,  he  closed  the 
carriage  door. 

Philippe  looked  after  the  carriage  as 
it  drove  slowly  away  ;  and  on  its  disap- 
pearing at  the  corner  of  an  avenue,  he 
himself  bent  his  steps  to  the  road 
which  would  bring  him  most  speedily 
to  Paris. 

Then  turning  round,  to  look  at  the 
carriage  for  the  last  time,  he  observed 
that  instead  of  returning,  as  he  was 
about  to  do,  to  Paris,  it  was  proceeding 
in  the  direction  of  Versailles,  and  was 
soon  lost  sight  of  among  the  trees,  he 
pronounced  the  following  four  words, 
which  seemed  torn  from  the  recesses 
of  his  heart,  after  much  painful  medi- 
tation : 

'She  will  pity  him." 


CHAPTER   XXXII. 

THE    HOUSE  IN  THE    RUE    SAINT-GILLE9. 

AT  the  gate  near  the  guard-house 
Philippe  found  a  hackney-coach  and 
jumped  into  it. 


MYSTERIES  OF  THE  COURT  OF  LOUIS  XVI. 


159 


'  Drive  to  the  rue  Neuve  Saint-Gilles,' 
•aid  he  to  the.  coachman,  '  and  quick- 

iy-' 

A  man  who  has  just  fought  a  duel, 
and  has  retained  a  certain  conquering 
ttir ;  a  man  of  vigorous  form  and  whose 
figure  altogether  bespeaks  the  noblo- 
man  ;  a  man  dressed  as  a  citizen  but 
whose  whole  deportment  betrays  the 
military  man,  was  more  than  enough  to 
stimulate  the  worthy  driver,  whose 
whip,  although  it  might  not  have  been 
like  Neptune's  Trident,  the  sceptre  of 
the  world  was  not  the  less  to  Philippe 
a  very  important  sceptre. 

The  automaton,  at  twenty-four  sous, 
therefore  devoured  time  and  distance, 
and  set  down  Philippe,  trembling  with 
eagerness  at  the  door  of  Count  de  Cag- 
liostro's  hotel  in  the  rue  Suint-Gilles. 

The  exterior  of  the  hotel  was  of  very 
simple  architecture,  its  beauty  arose 
from  its  majestic  lines,  like  most  of  the 
buildings  constructed  in  the  time  of 
Louis  XIV. 

A  spacious  carriage,  to  which  were 
attached  two  good  horses,  was  swinging 
upon  its  well  formed  springs,  in  a  vast 
•court-yard. 

The  coachman  was  sleeping  on  his 
box,  enveloped  in  an  immense  great- 
coHt  lined  with  blue  fox  skin  ;  two 
footmen,  one  of  whom  wore  a  short 
hunting  sword,  were  silently  pacing  up 
and  down  the  portico. 

With  the  exception  of  these  moving 
persons  no  sign  of  any  living  creature 
could  be  seen  about  the  hotel. 

Philippe's  coachman  having  been  or- 
dered by  him  to  enter  the  court-yard, 
although  he  drove  but  a  hackney-coach, 
hailed  the  Swiss  who  immediately 
threw  open  the  massive  gates. 

Philippe  jumped  out,  ran  up  the  front 
steps,  and  addressing  both  the  servants 
at  once: 

4  The  Count  de  Cagliostro?'    said  he. 

1  The  Count  is  just  going  out,"  replied 
one  of  the  servants.  ' 

'Then  there  is  the  greater  reason  for 
my  haste,'  said  Philippe,  '  for  I  wish 
to  speak  to  him  before  he  goes  out. 
Announce  the  chevalier  Philippe  de 
Taverney.' 

And  he  followed  the  footman  so  quick- 
ly that  he  reached  the  saloon  as  soon  as 
he  did. 

'The  chevalier  de  Taverney!'  re- 
peated after  the  valet  a  voice  that 
was  sonorous  and  gentle  at  the  same 
time, 

'  Show  him  in.' 

Philippe  entered  the  room  under  the 


influence  of  a  certain  degree  of  emotion 
which  that  calm  soft  voice  had  excited. 

'  Excuse  me,  sir,'  said  the  chevalier 
bowing  to  a  tall  man,  of  more  than  or- 
dinary vigor  and  freshness  in  his  looks 
and  who  was  no  other  than  the  person- 
age who  has  successively  appeared  to 
us  at  the  table  of  the  marshal  de  Riche- 
lieu, in  Mesmer's  drawing-room,  in 
Mademoiselle  Oliva's  apartment',  and 
at  the  opera  ball. 

'  Excuse  you,  sir!  and  for  what?'  re- 
plied he. 

1  Beoause  I  am  preventing  your  go- 
ing out.' 

'  It  would  have  been  necessary  to 
have  excused  you,  had  you  come  later, 
chevalier.' 

'  And  for  what  reason  ?' 

'Because  I  was  waiting  for  you.' 

Philippe  knit  his  brows. 

'  How  !  you  were  waiting  for  me  ?' 

'  Yes,  I  had  been  forewarned  of  your 
visit.' 

'  Of  my  visit — you  were  forewarned 
— of  mine  ?' 

1  Why,  yes,  two  hours  ago.  It  must 
be  one  or  two  hours  since,  that  you  in- 
tended coming  here;  did  you  not? — 
when  an  accident,  independent  of  your 
will,  compelled  you  to  defer  the  execu- 
tion of  that  project?' 

Philippe  clenched  his  hands  ;  he  felt 
that  this  man  was  exercising  a  singular 
influence  over  him. 

But  he,  without  in  the  least  perceiv 
ing  the  nervous  sensations  which  agl 
tated  Philippe, 

'  Be  seated,  Monsieur  de  Taverney, 
said  he,  '  I  beg  of  you.' 

And  he  drew  forward  an  arm-chair 
placed  near  the  chimney-piece,  and 
presented  it  to  Philippe. 

'  This  nrm-chair  was  placed  there  for 
you,'  added  he. 

.  '  A  truce  to  jesting,  my  lord  count,' 
replied  Philippe,  in  a  voice  which  he 
endeavored  to  render  as  calm  as  that 
of  his  host,  but  which  he  could  not, 
however,  divest  of  a  certain  degree  of 
tremor. 

4 1  do  not  jest,  sir ;  I  tell  you  I  was 
expecting  you.' 

'  Then  a  truce  to  juggling,  sir  ;  if  you 

are  a  conjurer,   I  did  not  come  here  to 

put  your  science  to  the  test ;  if  you  are 

a  sorcerer,  so  much  the  bettui  for  you, 

j  for  you  must  then  already  know  what  I 

!  have  come  to   sav,  and  you  can  before- 

!  hand  shelter  yourself — ' 

4  Shelter  myself — '  rejoined  the  count 
with  a  singular  smile  ;  4  shelter  myself 
from  what,  if  you  please?' 


THE  QUEEN'S  NECKLACE ;  OR,  THE 


•  Divine,  since  you  are  a  diviner.' 

'  Be  it  so  To  do  you  pleasure,  ] 
will  save  you  the  trouble  of  explaining 
the  motive  of  your  visit — you  have 
come  here  to  seek  a  quarrel  with  me.' 

4  You  know  that  ?' 

« Undoubtedly.' 

'Then  you  also  know  on  what  ac- 
count?' exclaimed  Philippe. 

'On  account  of  the  queen.  And  now, 
sir,  it  is  your  turn.  Go  on,  I  am  listen- 
ing to  you.' 

And  these  last  words  were  pronounc- 
ed no  longer  in  the  courteous  tone  of  a 
host,  but  in  the  dry,  cold  accent  of  an 
adversary. 

'You  are  right,  sir,'  said  Philippe,' 
and  I  like  it  better  thus.' 

'  The  thing  suits  marvellously  well, 
then.' 

'  Sir,  there  exists  a  certain  pam- 
phlet.' 

'  There  are  many  pamphlets  in  ex- 
istence, sir.' 

'  Published  by  a  certain  gazetteer — ' 

4  There  are  a  great  many  gazetteers.' 

'  Wait  a  moment — this  pamphlet — 
we  will  speak  of  the  gazetteer  by-and- 
by-' 

•  Allow  me  to  tell  you,  sir,'  said  Cag- 
liostro  interrupting   him,    and  smiling, 
'that  you  have  already  spoken  of  him.' 

'  Very  well ;  I  was  saying  then,  that 
there  was  a  certain  pamphlet  written 
against  the  queen.' 

Caglioetro   made  an  affirmative  sign. 

•  You  are  aware  of  the  existence  of 
this  pamphlet  ?' 

•Yes,  sir.' 

'  You  have  even  bought  a  thousand 
copies  of  it  ?' 

'  I  do  not  deny  it.' 

'  These  thousand  copies,  very  for- 
tunately, have  not  reached  your  hands?' 

'  And  what  leads  you  to  think  so, 
sir?'  said  Cagliostro. 

'Because  I  met  the  messenger  who 
was  carrying  off  this  bale  of  papers;  be- 
cause I  paid  him  ;  because  I  directed 
him  to  go  with  them  to  my  house, 
where  my  servant  to  whom  I  had  given 
previous  directions,  must- have  received 
them. 

« Why  do  you  not  carry  out  your  af- 
faire yourself  till  they  are  finally  ac- 
complished?' 

'  What  do  you  mean  to  say  ?' 

4 1  mean  to  say  that  they  would  then 
be  better  done.' 

'  I  did  not  follow  my  affairs  to  their 
fulfilment,  because  while  my  servant 
•was  occupied  in  subtracting  from 
jour  singular  bibliomania  these  thou- 


sand copies,  I  was  employed  in  destroy- 
ing the  remainder  of  the- edition.' 

4  Therefore,   you  are  sure  that  the 
thousand  copies  which  were   intended 
for  me  are  now  at  your  own  house  !' 
'  I  am  certain  of  it.' 

4  And  in  this  you  deceive  yourself, 
sir.' 

'  How  can  that  be  ?'  said  Taverney 
with  a  painful  misgiving,  '  and  why 
should  they  not  be  there  ?' 

'  Why  merely  because  they  are  here,' 
replied  the  Count  tranquilly  placing  his 
back  against  the  chimney  piece. 

Philippe  made  a  threatening  gesture. 

'  Ah  !  you  believe,'  said  the  Count, 
as  phlegmatic  as  Nestor,  '  you  believe 
that  I,  a  diviner  as  you  call  me,  that  I 
would  allow  myself  to  be  thus  tricked  ? 
You  thought  it  a  great  idea  when  you 
bought  over  my  messenger,  did  you 
not  ?  Well !  I  have  an  intendant,  I 
have,  and  my  intendant  had  also  an 
idea.  I  pay  him  for  that,  he  divined  ; 
it  is  perfectly  natural  that  the  inten- 
dant of  a  diviner  should  divine  :  he  di- 
vined then  that  you  would  go  to  the 
gazetteer's  office,  that  you  would  meet 
the  porter,  that  you  would  bribe  the 
porter;  he  therefore  followed  him,  he 
threatened  to  make  him  return  the 
gold  you  had  given  him,  the  man  wa« 
alarmed,  and  instead  of  continuing  on 
the  road  to  your  hotel,  he'  followed  my 
intendant  here.  You  doubt  it  ?' 

'  I  do  doubt  it.' 

'  Vide  pedes,  vide  manua!'  said  Jesus 
to  St.  Thomas.  I  will  say  to  you,  Mon- 
sieur de  Taverney  :  see  this  cupboard/ 
and  touch  those  pamphlets.' 

And  saying  these  words,  he  opened  a 
sort  of  oaken  wardrobe  admirably  sculp- 
tured, and  on  the  principal  shelf  he 
showed  to  the  pallid  chevalier  the  thou- 
sand copies  of  the  pamphlet,  still  im- 
pregnated with  that  faint  smell  common 
to  damp  paper. 

Philippe  approached  the  count ;  the 
latter  did  not  stir,  although  the  attitude 
of  the  chevalier  was  highly  threatening. 

'  Sir,'  said  Philippe  to  him,  •  you  ap- 
pear to  me  to  be  a  man  of  courage  ;  I 
call  on  you  to  give  me  satisfaction, 
sword  in  hand.' 

'  Satisfaction  for  what  ?'  asked  Cagli- 
ostro. 

4  For  the  insult  offered  to  the  queen, 
an  insult  of  which  you  render  yourself 
the  accomplice,  by  retaining,  were  it 
only  one  number  of  this  pamphlet.' 

'  Sir,'  said  Cagliostro,  without  at  all 
changing  his  posture,  'you  are,  in  truth, 
mistaken  in  a  way  that  gives  me  pain. 


MYSTERIES  OF  THE  COURT  OK  LOUIS  XVI. 


1C1 


I  nm  fond  of  novt'liH's,  scandalous  ru- 
mors, ephemeral  things.  I  make  col- 
lections, in  order  that  I  inny  hereafter 
remember  n  thousiind  things,  which, 
did  I  not  take  this  precaution,  I  should 
forget.  I  liuvo  bought  this  gazette  ; 
in  whitt,  then,  do  you  see  that  I  have 
insulted  nny  one  by  j)iirchnsing  it?' 

•  You  huve  insulted  me.' 
•You]' 

•  Yes,  me !  me,  sir ;  do  you  under- 
stand ?' 

•  No,  I  do  not  understand,  upon  my 
honor.' 

•But  how  is  it -that  you  persist  so 
strenuously,  I  nsk  you,  in  keeping  such 
a  hideous  pamphlet  ?' 

4 1  told  you  before,  the  mania  of  col- 
lecting.' 

4 A  man  of  honor,  sir,  does  not  collect 
eucli  infamous  works.' 

4  You  will  excuse  me,  sir,  but  I  do 
not  concur  in  your  opinion  as  to  your 
qualification  of  this  work  ;  it  may  bo 
called  a  pamphlet,  but  it  is  not  infam- 
ous.' 

'  You  will  acknowledge,  at  least,  that 
it  is  a  lie.' 

•  There  you  are  again  mistaken,  sir, 
for  her  majesty  the  queen  was  at  M  ea- 
rner's vat.' 

4  It  is  false,  sir.' 

'Do  you  pretend  to  say,  sir,  that  I  He?' 

4 1  do  not  pretend  to  any  so ;  but  I 
•ay  it.' 

4  Well,  then  !  if  it  be  BO,  I  will  nn- 
rwer  you  by  a  single  word  :  I  oaw  her 
there.' 

4  You  saw  her  there  ?' 

Philippe  looked  his  interlocutor  full 
in  the  face.  He  wished  to  combat 
with  his  frank,  noble,  ingenuous  look, 
the  luminous  gaze  of  Cagliostro ;  but 
the  struggle  was  too  fatiguing  for  him, 
he  turned  his  eyes  away,  saying : 

4  Well,  then  !  I  do  not  the  less  per- 
eist  in  saying  that  you  lie.' 

Cngliostro  shrugged  his  shoulders,  ns 
he  would  have  done  had  he  been  insult- 
ed by  a  madman. 

4  Do  you  not  hear  me?'  said  Philippe 
In  a  hollow  tone. 

'On  ihe  contrary,  sir,  I  have  not  lost 
a  single  word  that  you  have  uttered.' 

'Well,  eirljdo  you  not  know  what 
the  lie  thus  given  deserves?' 

4  Yes,  sir.'  replied  Cagliostro  ;  4  there 
is  even  a  French  proverb  which  says 
that  the  lie  deserves  n  box  on  the  ear.' 

•  Well,  then  !  there  is  one  thing  which 
surprises  me.' 

•And  what  is  that?' 
'  It  is  not  to  have  seenyonr  hand  raised 
21 


to  strike  me  in  the  face,  since  yon  ore  a 
gentleman — since  you  know  iho  French 
proverb.' 

'  Before  making  me  n  gentleman  nnd 
teaching  me  the  French  proverb,  (j'oj 
made  me  a  mnn  and  told  me  to  love  my 
fellow  creatures.' 

'  Then,  sir,  you  refuse  me  satifaction, 
sword  in  hand.' 

'  I  only  pay  that  which  I  owe.' 

4  Then  you  shall  give  me  satisfaction 
in  another  wny.' 

4  How  so?'' 

4 1  will  not  treat  you  worse  than  one 
of  the  nobility  ought  to  treat  another ; 
only  I  shall  demand  that  you  will,  -in 
my  presence,  burn  all  the  copies  of 
the  pamphlet  which  are  in  that  cup- 
board.' 

4  And  I  shall  refuse  to  do  so.' 

4  Reflect.' 

4 1  have  already  reflected.' 

'  You  will  compel  me  to  adopt  the 
same  measures  with  you  which  I  took 
with  the  gazetteer.' 

4  Ah !  a  beating  with  a  cane,'  said 
Cngliostro,  laughing,  but  standing  as 
motionless  as  a  statue. 

'Neither  more  nor  less,  sir.  Oh! 
you  will  not  call  your  servants,  I  am 
sure.' 

'Who,  I !  you  jest ;  and  why  should 
I  call  my  servants.  It  is  no  concern  of 
theirs  ;  I  can  settle  my  own  affairs  my- 
self. I  am  stronger  than  you  are.  You 
doubt  it,  but  I  swear  to  you  it  is  the 
case.  Therefore,  in  your  turn,  reflect. 
If  you  should  advance  upon  me  with 
your  cane,  I  would  take  you  by  the  neck 
and  waistband,  and  would  throw  you 
ten  paces  from  me ;  and  this,  under- 
stand me  clearly,  as  often  as  you  should 
attempt  to  appaoach  me.' 

4  An  English  wrestling  match!  that 
is  to  s"ay,  a  regular  porter's  game.— 
Well,  be  it  so,  M.  Hercules.  I  accept 
the  challenge.' 

And  Philippe,  drunk  with  rage, 
threw  himself  upon  Caglioatro,  who 
suddenly  stretched  forth  his  arms,  stiff 
as  two  cramp-irons,  seized  the  cheva- 
lier by  the  throat  and  the  waistband 
and  threw  him  upon  a  pile  of  thick 
cushions  which  formed  a  divan  in  one 
corner  of  the  drawing-room. 

Then  after  this   prodigious   effort  of 
strength  he  agiiin  took    hid  posiuon  be- 
fore  the    fire-plnce  as  if    nothing   hud ' 
happened. 

Philippe  had  jumped  up  pnle  nnd 
fonming  with  mgo,  bi.  [lit!  reaction  of 
cool  reasoning  soon  restored  to  him  Ilia 
moral  faculties. 


1G2 


THE  QUEEN'S  NECKLACE;  OR,  THE 


He  adjusted  his  coat  and  ruffles,  and 
then  in  a  lugubrious  tone,  said  : 

'  You  are  in  fuel  as  strong  ns  ft  ur 
men,  sir,  but  your  logic  is  less  powerful 
than  your  wrist.  In  treating  me  as  you 
have  just  now  done,  you  had  forgotten 
that  vanquished,  humiliated  as  I  have 
been,  you  have  made  me  nn  enemy  for- 
ever and  that.  I  have  acquired  the  right 
to  say,  dniw  your  sword.  Count,  or  1 
will  kill  you.' 

Cngliostro  did  not  stir. 

1  Draw  your  sword,  I  tell  you,  con- 
tinued Philippe,  '  or  you  are  a  dead 
man.' 

'  You  are  not  yet  near  enough  to  me, 
sir,  to  allow  me  to  treat  you  as  I  did  be- 
fore,' replied  the  Count,  'and  I  will  not 
•xpose  myself  to  being  wounded  by 
you,  or  perhaps  killed  as  was  poor  Gil- 
bert.' 

•Gilbert!'  exclaimed  Philippe,  start- 
ing back,  '  what  name  is  that  you  have 
pronounced  ?' 

4  Fortunately  this  time,  you  have  not 
a  fowling  piece,  but  only  a  sword  ' 

'Sir,'  cried  Philippe,  'you  have  ut- 
tered a  name — ' 

'Yes,  one  that  has  awakened  a 
dreadful  echo  in  your  recollections,  has 
it  not?'  'Sir." 

'  A  name  you  never  expected  to  hear 
again,  for  you  were  alone  with  the  poor 
lad  in  that  cavern  of  the  Azores  where 
you  assassinated  him.' 

4  Oh  !'  cried  Philippe,  •  defend  your- 
self, defend  yourself!' 

•If you  know,'  said  Cagliostro,  look- 
ing fixedly  at  Philippe,  'if you  knew 
how  easy  it  it  is  to  me,  to  make  thai; 
sword  fall- from  your  hand — ' 

4  With  your  own  sword  ?' 

•  Yes,  with  my  own  sword  if  I 
would.' 

4  Well,  let  us  see  it  then.' 

4  Oh  !  I  will  not  risk  that,  I  have  a 
more  certain  means.' 

'  For  the  last  time,  draw  your  sword 
or  you  are  a  dead  man  !'  cried  Philippe 
springing  towards  the  Count. 

But  the  latter  being  this  time  threat- 
ened by  the  sword's  point  which  was 
scarcely  three  inches  from  his  breast, 
threw  the  contents  of  a  small  phial, 
which  he  had  tnkr-n  from  his  pocket 
and  uncorked,  into  Philippe's  face. 

Scarcely  had  the  liquid  touched  the 
cfmvalier  than  lie  staggered,  let  fall  hia 
Bword,  turned  half  round  and  fell  upon 
hi«  knees  ;IM  if  his  \t\*a  had  lost  nil  pow- 
•iiipporl  i:l:u,  ::nd  during  some 
(seconds  appeared  t<i  be  deprived  of  con- 


Cagliostro  prevented  his  falling  alto- 
get  ier  to  the  ground,  supported  him, 
replaced  his  sword  in  the  scabbard, 
seated  him  in  an  arm-chair,  awaited 
until  his  reason  was  perfectly  restored, 
and  then  continued  : 

'  At  your  age,  chevalier,'  said  he,  '  a 
man  should  not  commir  such  follies; 
cease,  then,  to.  be  a  boy,  and  listen  to 
me.' 

_  Philippe  shook  himself,  stretched 
himself  to  chase  away  the  stupor  which 
had  invaded  his  brain,  and  murmured, 

'Oh!  sir,  sir;  do  you  call  th-tsi-  ihe 
weapons  of  a  gentleman  ?' 

Cagliostro  shrugged  up  his  shoulders. 

4  You  always  repeat  the  same  phrate,' 
said  he;  'when  we,  members  of  (he 
nobility  have  opened  our  mouths  wide- 
ly and  emitted  the  word  gentleman  ! 
we  think  that  all  is  said.  What  do  you 
call  the  weapons  of  a  gentleman  ?  Come 
now,  let  us  hear.  Was  your  fowling- 
piece,  which  served  you  so  well  against 
Gilbert,  one  of  them  ?  What  is  it  that 
renders  men  superior  to  each  other? 
Do  you  believe  that  it  is  the  high- 
sounding  word  of  gentleman  ?  No.  It 
is,  in  the  first  place,  reason,  then  fol- 
lows strength,  and  then  comes  know- 
ledge. Well,  I  have  employed  all  these 
in  my  struggle  with  you.  With  my 
reason  I  defied  your  insults,  believing 
that  I  should  induce  you  to  listen  to 
me.  With  my  strength  I  defied  3  our 
strength  ;  with  my  knowledge  I  atoned 
extinguished  your  physical  and  moral 
strength.  It  remains  for  me  now  to 
prove  to  you  that  you  have  committed 
two  faults  in  coining  here  with  threat* 
upon  your  lips ;  will  you  do  me  the  ho- 
nor to  listen  to  me.' 

'  You  have  annihilated  mo,'  said  Phi- 
lippe ;  '  I  canpot  move  at  all ;  you  have 
made  yourself  master  of  my  muscles, 
even  of  my  thoughts,  and  then  you  ask 
me  to  listen  to  you,  when  I  cannot  do 
otherwise.' 

Then  Cagliostro  look  a  small  gold 
scent  bottle  from  the  hand  of  a  bronze 
figure  of  EsculapiuH,  standing  upon  tho 
mantel-piece  :• 

'Smell  that  bottle,  chevalier,'  said  he 
with  diunilird  'jviitlonrsx. 

Philippe  obeyed.  Tin-  vapors  which 
had  obscured  his  intelligence  were  at 
once  dispelled.  and  it  appeared  to  him 
that  th<-  MID  shini-i-  o  i  iv<  ry  division  of 
his  bruin,  illumined  all  the  ideas  which 
the}'  rontai'h'd. 

'Oh  !  T  fcnl  life  renewed,"  cried  he. 

'  And  you  feol  well,  that  is  to  nay  free 
and  vigorous  '' 


MYSTERIES  OF  THE  COURT  OF  LOUIS  XVI. 


163 


•  Yes.' 

•With  a  perfect  recollection  ,,'f  the 
past  ?' 

*  O'i !  yes.' 

4  And,  us  I  hnve  to  deal  with  a  man 
of  courage,  a  man  of  enlightened  mind, 
that  memory  which  has  returned  to 
you,  gives  me  every  advantage  in  all 
that,  has  taken  place  between  us.' 

1  No  :'  replied  Philippe,  '  for  I  acted 
*by  virtue  of  a  vital,  a  sacred  principle. 

'  What  were  you  doing  then  ?' 

'  I  was  defending  monarchy.' 

'  You,  you  defending  monarchy?' 

'Yes,  I.' 

1  You,  a  man  who  went  to  America 
to  defend' a  Republic!  Why,  good 
Heaven  .'  be  consistent, .  either  it  was 
not  the  Republic  you  were  defending 
eut  yonder,  or  it  is  not  the  monarchy 
you  are  upholding  here.' 

Philippe  cast  down  his  eyes  ;  an  iin-  j 
mense  sob  almost  rived  his  heart. 


'  Love,'  continued  Cngliostro,  *  love 
those  who  disclaim  you  ;  love  those  who 
forget  you ;  love  those  who  deceive 
you,  it  is  the  fate  of  great  souls  to  be 
betrayed  in  their  great  affections  ;  it  is 
the  law  of  Jesus  to  return  good  for  evil. 
You  are  ^  Christian  Monsieur  de  Ta- 
verney  ." 

•Sir,'  cried  Philippe  terrified  at  hearv 
ing  Cagliostro  reading  thus  the  present 
and  the  past,  ;  Say  not  a  word  more, 
for  if  I  wna  not  defending  royalty,  I  was 
defending  the  queen,  that  is  to  say,  a 
respectable  innocent  woman,  respectable 
even  were  she  no  longer  innocent,  for 
it  is  the  divine  law  to  defend  the  weak.' 

'  The  weak  !  you  call  a  qur-en  weak  .' 
She,  before  whom  twenty-eight  mil- 
lions of  living  and  thinking  beings  bend 
the  knee  and  bow  down  their  heads  ? 
You  cannot  think  so.r 

4  She  is  calumniated,  sir.' 

•  What  know  you  of  ihat  ?' 
•It  is  iny  will  to  believe  so.' 

•  You  think  it  is  your  right  ?' 

•  Undoubtedly.' 

'  Well  then  .'  my  ri^ht  is  to  believe 
the  contrary.' 

4  Yuil   lie!    IIS   ;i[|    evil   genius-.' 

'And  who  tell.- \MI  *o  .'  cried  Cag- 
liostro, nli. •-,•  eye-  sharpened  and  sud- 
denly i>  IMiiiippe  with  their 
flashes.'  \\  hem  e  comes  this  audacity 
on  your  part  to  think  that  you  are  in 
the  right  and  that  I  am  in  the  \vroiin  1 
Whence  pror.ei'iNt  his  temerity  of  pre- 
ferring _>  our  principle  to  mine?  You 
•defend  royalty  you;  well!  if  I  should 
be  defending  allhumnnry?  You^aj, 
render  unto  Cwmir  thm 


Caesar's  ;  I  say  to  you,  render  unto  God 
(that  which  belongs  to  God  ;  Republi- 
can of  America,  Knight  of  the  order  of 
Cincinnatus.  I  call  you  back  to  the  love 
of  mankind,  to  the  love  of  equality. 
You  trample  upon  the  people  to  kiss 
the  hands  of  queens ;  as  to  myself,  I 
trample  queens  beneath  my  feet  in  or- 
der to  raise  the  people  but  one  step.  I 
do  not  trouble  you  in  your  adorations, 
then  trouble  not  me  in  my  good  work. 
I  leave  to  you  the  broad  daylight,  the 
sun  of  Heaven  and  the  sun  of  courts; 
leave  then  to  me  shadows  and  solitude. 
You  comprehend  the  strength  of  my 
argument,  do  you  not  as  you  just  now 
comprehended  the  strength  of  my  in- 
dividuality? You  said  die  thou,  who 
hast  insulted  the  object  of  my  worship. 
I  say  to  you :  Live  thou  who  hast  com? 
bated  my  adoration,  and  if  I  say  this  to 
you,  it  is  because  I  feel  myself  so  strong 
backed  by  my  principle  that  neither  you 
nor  yours,  whatever  efforts  you  may 
make,  can  for  a  single  moment  retard 
my  onward  march.'  • 

'  Sir,  you  terrify  me,'  said  Philippe ; 
'  I  am  now  perhaps  the  first  in  all  this 
country,  and  thanks  to  you,    to  catch  a 
glimpse  of  the  abyss  towards  which  roy 
alty  is  hurrying.' 

•  Then    if  you  have  seen   the  preci- 
pice, be  prudent.' 

•  You  who  tell  me  this,'  replied  Phi- 
lippe,  moved  by  the    paternal  tone  in 
which  Cagliostro  had  spoken,  '  you  who 
reveal  to  me  such  dreadful  secrets,  you 
are  still  wanting  in  generosity,   for  you 
well  know  that  1  shall  throw  myself  into   . 
the  gulf  rather  than  see  i  hose  whom  I 
defend  fall  into  it.' 

'  Well,  then,  I  shall  have  warned  you 
of  it,  and,  like  Tiberius'  prefect,  shall 
wash  my  hands,  Monsieur  de  Taver- 
ney.' 

'  Well,  then!'  said  Philippe,  running 
lowards  Cagliostro  with  feverish  ardor, 
•  I  who  am  weak  and  inferior  to  you,  I 
will  employ  the  weapons  of  the  feeble  : 
I  will  approach  you  with  a  tearful  eye, 
a  trembling  voice,  and  clasped  hands  ;  I 
will  supplicate  you  to  grant  me,  for  this 
once  at  least,  pardon  for  those  you  are 
pursuing.  I  will  ask  you  for  myself, 
for  me, — do  you  understand — for  me, 
who  cannot,  1  know  not  why,  habituate 
myself  to  consider  you  us  an  enemy.  I 
will  work  upon  your  feelings,  in  order 
that  you  should  not  leave  to  me  the  re- 
mon-e  of  having  witnessed  the  full  of 
this  poor  queen,  without  having  conjur- 
ed it.  In  short  sir,  1  .-.hall  prevail  upon 
c.ii.  ibali  1  not.  '<t  destro  thht 


164 


THE  QU0EN'S  NECKLACE;    OR,  THE 


phlet,  which  would  en  use  a  womnri  to 
shad  bitter  tears;  this  I  will  ubtain 
from  you,  or  by  my  honor,  by  that  fiitul 
passion  of  which  you  are  so  well  in- 
formed, I  swear  to  you,  thnt  with  this 
sword,  so  useless  when  directed «gfl!ite| 
you,  I  will  pierce  my  heart  hero  at your 
feet.' 

'  Ah  ."  murmured  Cagliostro,  looking 
at  Philippe  with  eyes  replete  with  elo- 
quent sorrow.  '  Ah  !  why  arc  they  not 
all  as  you  are,  I  should  be  on  their  side, 
and  then  they  would  not  perish.1 

'Sir,  sir,  I  entreat  you,  reply  to  my 
request,'  supplicated  Philippe. 

1  Count  them,'  said  C-igliostro  after  a 
thort  pause  ;  '  see  thnt  the  thousand  co- 
pies are  all  there,  and  burn  them  every 
one  yourself,  even  to  the  lust-' 

Philippe  felt  his  heart  rushing  to  his 
lips ;  he  ran  to  the  wardrobe,  took  out 
the  pamphlets,  threw  them  into  the 
fire,  and  grasping  the  hand  of  Cngliostro. 
with  the  most  fervent  gratitude, 

'  Adieu  !  adieu,  sir  !'  said  he,  '  a  hun- 
dred times  L  thank  you  for  that  which 
you  have  done  for  me.' 

And  he  left  the  room. 

•  I  owed  to  the  brother,'  said  Cngli- 
o«tro,  as  he  saw  him  withdraw,  'this 
compensation  for  that  which  the  sister 
suffered.' 

Then  raising  his  voice,  he  cried, 

1  My  horses !' 


CHAPTER  xxxrn. 

THE    HEAD    or    THE    DE    TAVERZfET 
FAMILY. 


these  things  were  occurring 
In  the  rue  Neuve-Saint-Gillee,  M.  de 
Taverney  the  elder  was  walking  in  his 
garden  at  Versailles,  followed  by  two 
luckies  pushing  a  wheeled  chair. 

In  these  days  there  w^ro  at  Versailes 
and  perhaps  they  are  still  existing,  some 
of  those  old  mansions  with  Frt^nch  gar- 
dens, which  from  a  servile  imitation  of 
the  taste  and  ideas  of  the  sovereign, 
represented  in  uiininture  the  Versailles 
of  Le  Notre  and  of  Mansard. 

Several  courtiers,  who  must  have  tak- 
en M.  de  la  Feuillade  for  their  model, 
had  constructed  diminutive  subterranean 
hot  houses  for  orange  trees,  sheets"^ 
witter  wh-.-'i  :;;»•>  culled  Swiss  lakes, 
and  baths*  »{'  Apollo. 

They   h    i    .ilso    their  ecu 
honor,  ami  t!  KM  r   Triarions  ;  :rnd    ill    rhi? 
on  a  scale  five  mm-lr. 


I  the  originals ;    each  pond  was   repre- 
sented by  n  ]>iiil  of  water. 

M.  de  Taverney  had  done  as  rnnch 
since  H.  M.  Louis  XV  hud  adopted  the 
Trianons-  His  house  ar.  VersaillBS  had 
its  Trianons,  its  orchards  and  its  flower- 
beds. Since  H.  M.  Louis  XVI  hnd 
taken  a  fancy  to  locks  mtth's  shops  »nd 
turning  lathes,  M.  de  Taverney  hnd 
furnaces,  mid  shavings.  Since  Marie 
Antoinette  had  drawn  plans  of  English 
gardens,  artificial  rivers,  meadows  and 
Swiss  chalets,  M.  de  Tavernny  had  in 
one  corner  of  his  garden  constructed  a 
little  Trianon  large  enough  for  a  doll's 
house  and  a  river  fit  only  for  young 
ducks. 

However,  r.t  the  moment  in  which  we 
now  find  him  he  had  l-een  for  home 
hwurs  basking  in  the  sun-shine,  in  the 
only  avenue  laid  out  in  the  grandiose 
times  of  Louis  XIV  that  now  remained 
to  him.  It  was  an  avenue  of  lindoc 
trees  with  their  long  red  suckers,  like 
iron  wires  just  issuing  from  the  fire. 

He  was  walking  very  gently,  hi» 
hands  in  his  mult',  and  every  five  min- 
utes, the  chair  pushed  on  by  the  two 
servants,  was  wheeled  up  to  him,  that 
he  might  repose  himself  after  his  exer- 
cise. 

He  was  enjoying  this  repase  and 
blinking  in  the  strong  sun-shine,  when 
a  porter  came  running  from  the  house 
calling  out, 

4  The  cheyalier  de  Tavernoy.' 

'  My  son  !'  exclaimed  the  old  man 
with  joyful  pride. 

Then  turning  round  and  perceiving 
Philippe  who  followed  the  porter, 

'  My  dear  chevalier,'  said  he. 

And  with  a  gesture  he  dismissed  the 
servants. 

1  Come  here,  Philippe,  come  here,' 
he  continued,  '  you  have  arrived  most 
timely,  for  my  mind  is  full  of  joyous 
ideas.  But  what  a  strange  face  you 
put  on — you  are  out  of  humor.' 

1  Who,  I,  sir,  not  at  all.' 

1  You  have  already  heard  the  result 
of  the  affair?' 

'Of  what  affair/' 

The  old  man  turned  round  as  if  to 
ascertain  if  any  one  were  listening. 

« You  may  speak  on  sir,'  said  the  che- 
valier. •  we  arc  (|uite  alone.' 

4  I  am  speaking  to  you  of  the  affair  at 
the  ball.' 

1  understand  yon  still  less.' 
at  the,  opera.' 

Philippe    blu-lt-d,    the    cunning   old 

1  it. 
Iiupi^H.-:;1    fellow,'   »-aid    ln%    'yon 


MYSTERIES  OF  THE  COURT  OF  LOUIS  XVI. 


165 


act  lilto  fin  unskilful  sen  man.  who,  nn 
soon  as  ho  lias  a  favorable  wind,  looses 
every  anil.  Come  now,  sit  down  thorn 
on  tliar  bench  and  listen  to  my  nionil 
precepts;  I  have  soino  good  ones.' 
1  Hut,  sir.  in  short — ' 

•  In  short,  sir,  you  nre  too  audacious, 
you  who  were  formerly  so  timid,  sode- 
lirate,  so  reserved,  now  on  tlie  coatniiy 
yon  expose  her  to  remarks.' 

Philippe  rose  from  hia  scat. 

•  Of  whom  arc  you  pleased  to  speak, 
sir  ?' 

•  Why,  of  hor,  by  henven  !  of  lier.' 

•  And  who  do  you  mean  by  her?' 

4  H.I  !  ha  !  you  think  I  have  not  heard 
of  yovr  runawny  pranks,  unit  both  going 
to  I  lie  opera — a  pretty  nflitir,  truly.' 

•  Sir,  I  protest  to  you — ' 

•  Come  now,  do  not  get  angry  ;  what 
I  am  telling  you  is  for  your  good.  Why, 
you  take  no  sort  of  precaution,  and  you 
will  be  caught  one  of  these  days — the 
dense  !   you  were  seen  with  her  at  the 
ball   this  lime,  and   you   will   be  seen 
with  her  somewhere  else  another  time.' 

4  I  was  seen  ?' 

•Assuredly.  Had  you  or  had  you 
not  a  blue  domino  ?' 

Taverney  was  about  to  protest  that 
he  had  not  a  blue  domino,  and  that  peo- 
ple were  mistaken,  but  it  ia  repugnant 
to  some  natures  to  defend  themselves 
in  certain  delicate  circumstances;  those 
only  defend  themselves  energetically 
who  know  that  they  are  beloved,  and 
that,  by  defending  themselves,  they  are 
rendering  service  to  ihe  friend  with 
whom  they  are  accused. 

4  But  of  what  use  would  it  be,'  thought 
Philippe,  •  to  explain  matters  to  my  fa- 
ther. Besides,  I  wish  to  be  informed  of 
all  that  lias  been  said.' 

He  bowed  his  head  like  a  culprit  ac- 
knowledging his  fault. 

•You  see,  then,'  said  the  old  man 
triumphantly,  '  that  you  were  recog- 
nized ;  I  knew  that  I  was  right.  In 
fact,  M.  de  Richelieu,  who  has  a  great 
affection  for  you,  and  who  was  at  that 
ball,  despite  his  eighty-four  years,  M. 
de  Richelieu  puzzled  himself  to  disco- 
ver who  could  be  the  blue  domino  whose 
arm  the  queen  was  leaning  on,  nnd  he 
could  not  find  any  one  to  suspect  but 
you;  for  ho  had  seen  all  the  others. 
and  you  know  his  great  perspicuity.' 

•That  1  may  have  been  suspected,' 
said  Philippe,  coldly",  «I  can  very  well 
conceive,  but  that  the  queen  shouM 
have  been  locoguized  ia  more  extraor- 
dinary.' 

It  must  huvo  boon  difficult  to  rccog- 


ni/.o  her,  truly,  since  she  onmnsked. 
Oil !  that,  do  you  see,  surpasses  all  ima- 
gination. Such  audacity !  That  wo- 
man must  be  madly  in  love  with  you.1 

Philippe    blushed.     To  continue  the, 
conversation   any    farther  would   have 
been  impossible. 

'  W  that  was  not  nudaciry,'  continued 
old  de  Taverney,  '  it  must  have  been  a 
very  unfortunate  chance.  Take  cnr», 
chevalier,  for  there  are  jealous  eyes 
upon  you,  and  such  as  are  to  be  feared. 
It  is  an  envied  post,  that  of  the  favorito 
of  a  queen,  when  ihe  queen  is,  in  fact, 
more  powerful  t.liun  the  king  himself.' 

And  Taverney  senior  r.ook  a  pinch  of 
snuli;  which  he  inhaled  with  lengthen- 
ed satisfaction. 

4  You  will  forgive  me  for  my  sermon, 
will  you  not,  chevalier  ?  Forgive  it,  ray 
dear  son.  I  feel  quite  grateful  towards 
you,  and  I  would  prevent  the  breat'.i  of 
chance  from  demolishing  the  scaffold- 
ing which  you  have  raised  so  skilfully.' 

Philippe  rose,  perspiring  at  every 
pore,  his  handy  clenched.  He  wished 
to  get  away,  to  break  oiTthis  conversa- 
tion, and  with  the  same  species  of  joy 
with  which  he  would  have  broken  the 
vertebra  of  n  serpent,  but  one  feeluag 
made  him  pause,  a  feeling  of  painful 
curiosity,  one  of  those  furious  desires 
to  ascertain  the  worst,  u  pitiless  sting 
which  constantly  lacerates  those  heart* 
which  overflow  with  love. 

4 1  was  telling  you,  then,  that  people 
are  envious  ot  us,'  rejoined  the  old 
man,  4  that  is  quite  natural.  However, 
we  have  not  yet  reached  the  summit  lo 
which  you  are  raising  ue.  To  you  be- 
longs Ihe  glory  of  elevating  the  name  of 
Taverney  above  its  humble  source — 
Only,  be  prudent,  if  not  \VH  shall  never 
attain  it,  and  your  designs  will  miscarry 
altogether.  That  would  indeed  be  a 
pity,  for,  in  truth,  we  nre  advancing 
well.' 

Philippe  turned  away  iu  order  to  con- 
ceal tho  deep  disgust,  the  bilter  con- 
tempt which  at  that  moment  imparted 
to  his  features  an  expression  which 
would  have  astonished,  perhaps,  teiri- 
lied  his  father. 

4  In  a  short  limu  you  wili  ask  fur  some 
great  office,'  pursued  the  old  man,  be- 
coming animated  ;  '  you  will  Lav«  con- 
ferred on  me  a  king's  lieutenancy,  ia 
some  province  not  loo  far  from  Pxria. 
After  this,  you  wi  1  have  Tuveriioj 
Maieon  Rouge  en-clod  into  a  peerage. 
You  will  have  mi:  include  1  in  tin;  first 
promo  ion  of  iho  order.  You,  yourself 
may  bo  u  duke,  puer  and  lioutonaut- 


166 


THE  QUEEN'S  NECKLACE;  OR,  THE 


general.  In  two  years,  for  I  shall  live 
as  long  as  that,  you  will  obtain  for 
me — 

'Enough!  enough!'  groaned  Phi- 
lippe. 

•  Oh  !  if  nil  this  sntisfies  you,  it  does 
not  me.     You  have  a  whole  lite  before 
you,   I   have    scarcely  a  few  inonfhs ; 
and  these   few  months  must  repay  me 
for  the    sorrowful   and   miserable  past. 
But.  I  have  no  reason  to  complain.    God 
bus  given  me  two  children,  and  that  is 
much  for  a  man  without  fortune.     But 
if  my  daughter  has  remained  utterly 
useless  to  our  house,  you  make  amends. 
You  are  the  architect  of  the  temple.    I 
see  in  you  the  great  Taverney,  the  he- 
ro!    You  inspire  me  with  respect,  and 
that  is  something.     It  is  true  that  your 
conduct  with   the   court, is   admirable. 
Oh  !   1  huve  never  yet  seen  any  thing 
more  skilful.' 

'  How  !'  cried  the  young  man,  uneasy 
at  finding  his  conduct  approved  by  this 
serpent. 

'  Your  mode  of  conduct  is  superb  ; 
you  do  not,  show  any  signs  of  jealousy. 
You.  in  appearance,  leave  the  field  free 
to  every  one,  but  you  maintain  your 
own  position  in  reality.  That  is  veiy 
profound,  and  shows  great  observation.' 

'I  do  not  understand  you,'  said  Phi- 
lippe, more  and  more  annoyed. 

-  No    modesty,  if  you    please.     It  is 
word  for  word  the  conduct  of  Potemkin 
wh'i  astonished  all  the  world  by  hi?  suc- 

FL"  *riw  that  Catherine  was  fond 
of  variety  in  her  amours  ;  when  left  at 
liber. y  she  would  flutter  from  flower  to 
flower,  bul  return  always  to  the  most 
fruitful  ani  the  handsomest;  but  if 
pursued  n)ie  would  have  flown  out  of  all 
rc'ich.  He  therefore  made  up  his  mind 
to  it.  It  WHS  he  who  rendered  more 
agreeable  to  the  Empress,  the  new  fa- 
vo  riic  upon  whom  she  cast  her  eyes. 
It  war-,  lie.  who,  setting  forth  their  good 
qualities  on  the  one  side,  was  careful  to 
leave  a  vulnerable  point  by  which  he 
could  attack  them.  It  was  lie  who  al- 
lowed the  sovereign  to  be  fatigued  with 
tin  sr  transitorypnssione,  instead  of  sa- 
tia  in^  her  as  to  his  own  powers  of 
pleasing.  B\  preparing  the  epheme- 
ral reign  of  these  favorite-,  which  were 
Ironically  called  the  twelve  Caesars, 
Potemkin  rendered  his  own  reign  eter- 
nal, indestructible.' 

'  But  these  are  incomprehensible  in- 
famies.' miii-im-red  Louis  Philipp--.  »a/.- 
ing  at  hi-  father  with  perfect  stupefac- 
tion. The  old  man  continued  with  im- 
puriurble  calmness.  •* 


'  According  to  the  system  of  Potem- 
kin, you  have  committed  a  slight  fault. 
He  did  not  eo  completely  abandon  all 
description  of  precaution.  And  you — 
you  are  too  careless.  I  kno'w  well  that 
French  policy  is  not  Russian  policy.' 

Upon  these  words,  which  were  pro- 
nounced with  a  cunningness  of  expres- 
sion which  would  have  baffled  the  most 
experienced  diplomatist,  Philippe,  who 
thought  his  father  was  raving,  replied 
merely  by  a  shrug  of  the  shoulders, 
which  was  anything  but  respectful. 

'  Yes,  yes,'  cried  the  old  man  eager- 
ly, '  you  think  I  have  not  divined  your 
plan  :  but  you  shall  see.' 

'  Well,  eir,  let  us  see.' 

Taverney  crossed  his  arms. 

'  Will  you  tell  me  that  you  do  not 
raise  your  successor  — ' 

'  My  successor  r  said  Philippe,  turn- 
ing pale. 

'  Will  you  pretend  to  tell  me  that 
you  do  not  know  the  tenacity  of  the 
amorous  propensities  of  the  queen, 
when  once  she  is  possessed  by  them  ; 
and  that  foreseeing  a  change  in  her  af- 
|  fections,  you  do  not  wish  to  be  com- 
pletely sacrificed  —  thrown  oft',  and 
which  always  happens  with  the  queen, 
for  she  cannot  at  the  same  time  love 
the  present,  and  endure  the  past.' 

'  You  are  speaking  Hebrew,  my  lord 
Baron  !' 

The  old  rnan  began  to  laugh  again 
with  that  ringing  and  demoniacal  laugh, 
which  made  Philippe  shudder,  as  it  had 
been  the  summons  of  an  evil  genius. 

'  You  would  wish  me  to  believe  that 
your  tactic  is  not  that  of  standing  well 
witli  M.  de  Charny  T 

*  Charny  1' 

'  Yes.  your  future  successor.  The 
man  who.  when  he  shall  reign,  cnn  have 
you  exiled,  as  you  might  now  cause 
1. 1  be  exiled  Messrs  de  Coigny,  Van- 
dreuil  and  others.' 

Tlie  blood  rushed  violently  to  Phi- 
lippe's temples. 

'  Enough !'  cried  he  again.  '  enough  ! 
sir:  I  am.  in  truth,  ashamed  that  I 
should  have  so  long  listened  to  you. 
He  who  assert  *  that  the  Queen  of 
France  Is  a  MessftHne.  that  man,  sir,  is 
a  criminal  calumniator.' 

1  That's  right !  very  right !  you  p:ay 
your  part  admirably;  but  I  can  assure 
you  that  nobody  can  hear  us.' 

•01.!' 

•A  fid   ,is  to   Charny,  you  see  that  I 

en    lliroiiiih  you,  skilful   as  you 

To  divine  things,  runs  in  th6 

:   the    Tnverneya.     Go  on,  Phi- 


MYSTERIES  OF  T11K  COUJtT  OF  LOUIS  XVI. 

I 

flu!ter,    moilitv-  console 
Assist    him 


167 


lippe,    go    ou 

your  Charny.  Assisi  him  to  pass  on 
gently,  and  without  asperity,  from  the 
state  of  a  building  plant  till  he  becomes 
u  full-blown  flower;  and  be  assured 
th.it  he  is  a  gentleman  who  by  his  favor 
will  recompense  you  for  all  you  may 
have  done  fur  him.' 

And  after  uttering  these  words,  old 
d>'  Vuvrrney,  quite  proud  of  this  exhi- 
bition of  his  perspicuity,  gave  a  sort  of 
capricious  pirouette,  as  if  he  had  still 
tu-fit  ;i  young  man  in  the  full  insolence 
of  prosperity. 

Philippe  seised  him  furiously  by  the 
sleeve,  and  stopped  his  pirouette. 

Oh  !  that  is  what  you   mean.'  said 


sister ;  and  I  who  thought  him  cured. 
Oh  !  there  is  but  one  head  in  ray  family, 
and  that  is  mine.' 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

THE    COURT    OK  PROVENCE'S 


WHILE  these  events  were  occurring 
at  Paris  and  at  Versailles,  the  king, 
tranquil  as  usual',  since  he  knew  that 
his  fleets  had  been  victorious,  and  win- 
ter conquered,  was  reposing  iu  his  pri- 
vate cabinet,  surrounded  by  charts  and 
maps  of  every  description,  and  small 


tu- ;   •  really,  sir,  your  logic  is- mosl   ad-    models  of  machinery,  and  wasjus'tthink- 
mirable,.'  1  ing  of  tracing  on  the  charts  the  course 

•  pursuer!  by  Laperouse's  vessels,  when 
a  slight,  tap  at  the  door  aroused  him 
from  his  re  very,  somewhat  excited  by 
a  collation  he  had  partaken  of. 

At  that:  moment  a  voice  was  heard. 
'  May  I  come  in,  brother  ?'  said  the' 


•  I  have  guessed  aright,  and  you  are 
ungry  with  me  .'  Pooh  !  you  will  par- 
don rne,  if  it  were  only  for  my  good  in- 
tention. Besides,  I  like  Charny.  and 
am  right  glad  that  you  have  conducted 
yourself  so  well  towards  him.' 

•Your  M.  de  Charny  is  so  much  my 
favorite  just  now,  my  minion,  my  bird  j  'The  Count  de  Provence,  mid  most 


who  lam  training,  that,  but  a  few  hours 
ago,  I  passed  a  foot  of  this  good  I)  hide 
between  his  ribs.' 

And  Philippe  showed  his  sword  to  his 
father. 

'How  !'  cried  old  de  Taverney,  terri- 
fied at  the  sight  of  his  flashing  eyes 
and  -at  the  intelligence  of  this  warlike 
incident,  'did  you  not  say  that  yon  had 
fought  with  M.  de  Charny  ?' 

'And  that  1  spitted  him,  yes.' 

•Good  Heaven  !' 

'  That  is  my  mode  of  caressing,  mol- 
lifying, aud  standing  well  with  my  suc- 
cessors,' added  Philippe,  '  and  now  that 
you  are  acquainted  with  it,  apply  your 
theory  to  my  practice.' 

And  he  made  a  despairing  eliort  to 
get  away.  The  old  man"  clung  to  his 
arm. 

•  Philippe  !    Philippe  !    tell    me    that 
you  were  only  jesting.' 

•  Call  it  a  jest,  if  you  please,  but  it  is 
doueV 

The  old  man  raised  his  eyes  to  hea- 
V.MI.  mumbled  some  incoherent  words, 
and.  leaving  his  son,  ran  to  his  ante- 


•  Quick  !  quick  !'  cried  he,  '  a  man  on 
horseback  ;  let  him  ride  instantly  to  the 
house  of  M.  de  Charny,  who  has  be»u 
wounded  ;  le?  him  impure-  after  the, 
state  of  his  health,  nmt  let  him  not  for- 
get to  say  tlnit  lie  comes  from 

•That  tr.iitor,  Philippu!'  CM  \>  •.: 
returmug.  *  is  he  not 


unwelcomely,'  muttered  the  king,  push- 
ing from  him  an  enormous  volume  on 
astronomy. 

'  Come  in  !'  said  he. 

A  stout,  short,  red-faced  person,  with 
sparkling  eyes,  entered  the  room,  in  a 
manner  too  respectful  for  a  brother,  too 
familiar  for  a  subject. 

'  You  did  not  expect  me,  brother,' 
said  he. 

1  Indeed  I  did  not.' 

•  Do  I  interrupt  you  ?' 

•  No  ;  but  have  you  any  tiling   inte- 
resting to  say  to  me  ?' 

•A  rumor  that  is  so  droll,  so  gro- 
tesque— ' 

'  Ah!  ha  !  some  calumny.' 

•  It  is  so  really,  my  brother.' 

•  Which  has  amused  you  ?' 

'  Oh  !  yes.  on  account  of  it*  singu- 
larity . ' 

'  Some  villiiinouH  «ttiick  against  me?' 
4  God  if  my  witness  that  I  should  not 
laugh  if  that  had  been  the  case.' 
'  It  is  against  the  queen,  then  ?' 
'Sire,   only   imagine    for    a    moment 
tha;  1  have  been  told,  and  very  serious- 
ly too,  that — but  I  will  give  yon  n  hun- 
dred,   ay!    a  thousand   time*   to  gueft*. 
what  has  been  told  me.' 

'  Brother,  since  my  preceptor  pointed 
out  to  me  thi*  npecins  of  oniforici.l  pre- 
paration in  Madame  de  S.-vegne,  us  a 
pntt«i-n  of  good  style.  I  no  long,  r  tul- 
ini  e  it  But.  to  the  furl. 

.    -iiy    brother.'  Haid  the. 


168 


THE  QUEEN'S  NECKLACE;  OR,  THE 


Count  do  Provence,  somewhat  taken 
nback  liy  the  kind's  harsh  manner,  •  I 
\V)is  told  that  the  queen  slept  out  the 
oilier  night.  Hu  !  hu  !' 

And  lie  pretended  to  laugh  henrtily. 

'Tliiit  would  be  most  unfortunate, 
were  it  true,'  said  the  king  gravely. 

4  Hut  it  is  not  true,  is  it,  brother  .'' 

•  No.' 

1  It  is  not  true  either,  that  the  queen 
was  seen  waiting  at  tho  gate,  by  the 
Reservoir  ?' 

4  No.' 

4  That  night,  j'ou  know,  when  you 
ordered  the  gate  to  be  closed  ut  eleven 
o'clock.' 

1  I  do  not  know.' 

•  Well  then,  brother,  the  rumor  sta- 
ted  ' 

4  What  is  this  rumor  ?  where  is  it  ? 
what  is  it  .'' 

4  That  is  deep  reasoning  brother, 
very  deep.  In  tact,  \Yhat  is  rumor  ? 
well  then  this  impalpable,  incomprehen- 
sible being,  who  is  called  rumor,  pre- 
tends the  queen  was  seen  walking  arm 
in  arm,  on  that  very  night,  with  the 
Count  d'Artois,  at  half-past  12  o'clock. 

•  Where  ?' 

4  Going  to  a  house  which  belongs  to 
M.  d'Afteis,  yonder,  behind  the  stables. 
HUB  not  your  Majesty  heard  something 
oil  this  enormity  ?' 

4  Oh!  yes,  well  brother,  I  have  heard 
of  it,  it  could  not  be  otherwise-.' 

'  How,  Sire  ?' 

4  Yes,  did  you  not  do  something,  iu 
order  Hint  I  might  hear,  of  it  ?' 

•  Who,  I  ?' 
4  You.' 

•  Whut  hnve  T  done  then,  sire  ?* 

•  You  wrote  a  quutntiit,    which   ap- 
peared in  the  Mercure.' 

4  A  quatrain  !'  cried  the  Count,  whose 
face  assumed  a  deeper  tinge  than  when 
lie  entered  the  room. 

4  You  were  born  u  favorite  of  the 
muses.' 

4  Not  to  such  an  excess  ns  to——' 

1  As  to  make  a  stanza,  which  fmiithe« 
with  this  line.' — 

4  Of  thia  Helen  said  not  a  -word  to 
good  Tting  Mcnelaus  * 

«  Who,  I  sire  ?' 

4  Do  not  deny  it,  here  is  the  ori-jinnl 
of  i ho  quatrain,  your  own  hand  writing. 
Hey  !  1  know  but  little  of  poetry,  but 
ns  to  penmanship,  I  am  a  perfect 
jud»o.' 

1  Sire,  one  folly  leads  to-  another.' 

4  M.  de  1'rovem-e,  I  can  assure  you 
llmt  you  iilone  have  been  guilty  of 
folly, .and  1  urn  astonished  thu!  a  philo- 


:  sopher  should  have  committed  such  A 
folly.  Let  us  apply  this  qualification  to 
your  quuiraiu.' 

4  Your  Majesty,  sire,  is  harsh,  to- 
wards me.' 

4  It  is  simply  retaliation.  Instond  of 
writing  your  quatrain,  you  might,  have 
taken  the  trouble  to  inquire  what  the 
queen  had  really  done.  I  did  so^wisd 
instead  of  writing  n  quatrain  ngainst 
her,  and  consequently  against  me,  you 
would  have  written  an  ode  in  praise  of 
your  sister.  Uutyou  may  say,  the  subject 
does  not  inspire  you,  however,  I  far 
prefer  a  badly  written  epistle,  to  a  clever 
satire.  Horace  also  said  this  ;  Horace, 
your  favorite  poet, — 

4  Sire,  you  overwhelm  me." 
.  4  Had  you  not  been  as  firmly  pereund- 
ed  of  the  queen's  innocence  ns  I  am, 
added  the  king  firmly,  4  you  would  have 
dune  well  to  read  your  Horace  onca 
more.  Was  it  not  he  who  wrote  those 
beautiful  words — you  will  excuse  my 
murdering  the  latin  :' 

4  KcctiuS  hoc  cst ; 

Hoc  facicns  vivain  mclius,  sic.  dulci* 
amicis 

Orcurram.' 

4  That  is  more  righteous ;  doing  thnt, 
I  shall  lead  a  better  life,  and  render  my- 
self acceptable  to  my  friends.' 

4  You  would  translate  this  more  ele- 
gantly, brother,  but  I  believe  that  to  b« 
the  sense.' 

And  the  good  king,  after  having  given 
this  lesson  rather  us  a  father  than  a  bro- 
ther, awaited,  expecting  that  the  cul- 
prit would  have  said  something  to  justify 
his  conduct. 

The  count  meditated  his  reply  during 
some  moments,  leas  as  a  man  confused 
by  a,  discovery  thwn  as  an  orator  who 
is  seeking  for  elegant  and  delicate 
phrases. 

4  Sire,'  mid  he,  4  however  severe 
may  be  the  decree  of  your  majesty,  I 
have  a  plea  in  excuse,  and  a  hope  of 
pardon.' 

4  Say  on,  brother.' 

4  You  accuse  me  of  having  been  mis- 
taken, do  you  not,  sire;  uud  not  of  any 
evil  intention  ?' 

4  Agreed.' 

4  If  it  be  BO,  your  majesty  knows  full 
well  thnt  not  a  mnn  exists  who  in  not 
sometimes  mistaken,  your  majesty  will 
at  once  admit  that  my  mistake  was  not 
without  mime  foundation.' 

4  I  will  never  accuse  your  under- 
•ttuidiug,  which  is  great  and  superior, 
brother.' 

•  Woll,  sire,  how  could   I   bo  other* 


MYSTERIES  OF  THE  COURT  OF  LOUIS  XVI. 


1G9 


wise  thnn  mistaken,  hearing  nil  the  re- 
ports that  lire  current  ?  We,  princes, 
live  in  an  atmosphere  of  calumny  and 
nr«  impregnated  by  it.  I  do  not  8113-, 
thnt  1  believed  ;  I  say  that  I  was  told.' 

4  That  is  as  it  should  be,  since  it  is 
thus,  but — ' 

1  The  quatrain?  Oh!  poets  are  strange 
beings  ;  and  besides,  is  it  not  better  to 
warn  by  a  gen  le  critic  ism,  which  »wy 
produce  a  good  effect,  than  by  a  frown- 
ing brow  ?  Warnings,  when  given  in 
verse,  do  not  offend,  sire  ;  they  are  not 
like  pamphlets,  on  the  subject  of  which 
your  majesty  has  often  been  urged  to 
adopt  coercive  measures.  Pamphlets 
like  the  one  which  I  have  come  here  to 
show  you.' 

•  A  pamphlet ." 

'  Yes,  sire  ;  I  must  request  nn  order 
for  the  immediate  sending  to  the  l>as- 
tille  of  the*  miserable  author  of  this  vile 
work.' 

The  king  rose  abruptly. 

'  Let  us  see  it,'  said  ho. 

•  I  know  not  whether  I  ought,  sire.' 

'  Certainly,  you  ought ;  there  should 
be  no  concealment  in  such  circum- 
stances. Have  you  the  pamphlet  <' 

•  Yes,  sire.' 

•  Give  it  to  me.' 

And  the  Count  de  Provence  drew 
from  his  pocket  n  copy  of  the  story  of 
Etteniotna,  a  fatal  copy  which  the  cane 
ot  Charny,  the  sword  of  Philippe,  and 
the  fire  ut  Count  Cagliostro's  hud  not 
been  able  te  destroy. 

The  king  glanced  over  the  pamphlet 
with  the  rapidity  of  n  man  accustomed 
to  seize  nt  once  the  interesting  para- 
graphs in  a  newspaper  or  a  book. 

'  Infamy  !  infamy."  he  exclaimed.   . 

'  You  ?ee,  sire,  it  is  pretended  that 
my  sister  has  been  to  Mesmer's.' 

•  Well  !  tlu.t   is   true,  she   has   been 
there.' 

4  She  has  been  there  ."  exclaimed  the 
Count  de  Provence. 

'  And  authorized  by  me.' 

•  Oh  !  sire." 

'  And  it  is  not  from  her  presence 
there  that  I  draw  any  presumption 
against  her  prudence,  since  I  myself 
permitted  her  to  go  to  the  Place  Ven- 
dome.' 

•  Your  majesty   surely  did  not  mean 
to    allow    the    queen    to    approach    live 
vat,  that  she  might  herself  experience 
the—' 

The  king  stamped  his  foot.  The 
count  happened  to  utter  these  words 
precisely  at  the  moment  when  the  eyes 
of  Louis  XVI  were  running  over  the 

22 


most  insulting  paragraph  against  Marie 
Antoinette;  the  story  of  her  pretended 
cries,  her  contortion*,  (if  her  voluptuous 
disorder — of  nil,  in  nhort,  that  had  hap- 
pened to  Mademoiselle  Olivu  while  in 
Mesmer's  house. 

'  Impossible  !  impossible  !'  exclaimed 
the  king,  who. had  become  very  pule. 
'Oh  !  the  police  must  be  well  informed 
upon  this  head.' 

He  rang  the  bell. 

•  M.  do  Crosne,'  cried  he,  '  let  somo 
one  go  instantly  for  M.  de  Crosne.* 

•Sire,'  replied  the  usher,  '  this  is  the 
day  for  the  weekly  report,  and  M.  do 
Crosne  is  waiting  in  the  Ocil  ilc  J3ocuf,' 

•  Let  him  come  in.' 

4  Permit  me,  brother,'  said  the  Count 
do  Provence,  in  a  hypocritical  tone. 

And  he  made  u  movement  as  if  to 
leave  the  room. 

4  Remain  here,'  said  Louis  XVI.  If 
the  queen  be  really  guilty,  you,  sir,  na 
one  of  the  family,  may  know  it. ;  if  inno- 
cent, you  ought  to  know  that  also,  since, 
you  have  suspected  Uer.' 

M.  de  Crosne  entered  the  room. 

That  magistrate  seeing  M.  de  Pror- 
ence  with  the  king,  began  by  present 
ing  his  respectful  homage  to  the  two 
highest  personages  of  the  kingdom. 

4  The  report  is  ready,  sire,'  said  he. 

4  Before  all,  sir,'  snid  Louis  XVI, 
4  explain  to  us  how  it  happens  that  such, 
an  infamous  pamphlet  against  the  queen 
can  have  been  published  at  Paris.' 

4  Etteniotim  ?'  said  M.  de  Crosne. 

•  Yes.' 

•  Well,  sire,  it  is  by  a  gazetteer,  whose 
name  is  Reteau.' 

4  Oh  !  yes,  you  know  his  name,  and 
you  have  not  either  prevented  him 
from  publishing  it.  or  caused  him  to  be 
arrested  after  its  publication.' 

4  Sire,  nothing  could  have  been  more 
easy  than  to  have  arrested  him  ;  I  will 
even  show  your  majesty  the  order  for 
his  imprisonment  already  prepared  and 
in  my  portfolio.' 

4  Then,  why  has  the  arrestation  not 
been  effected  ?' 

M.  de  Crosne  turned  towards  M.  de 
Provence. 

•  1  take  iry   leave  of  your   majesty,' 
said  the  latter. 

4  No,  no,'  replied  the  king ;  4 1  told 
you  to  remain  ;  therefore  remain.'  • 

The  count  bowed. 

4  Speak,  M.  de  Crosno  ;  speak  frank- 
•ly  and  without  reservation;'  spunk 
i  learly  and  quickly.' 

4  Well  then,  this  is  the  case,'  replied 
thu  lieutenant  of  police  ;  •  1  did  tiol  or- 


TMK  QiJ BEN'S  NECKLACK;  OK,  TIM! 


17.0 

der  the  immediate  urrest  of  this  Reteau, 
the  gazetteer,    because    it  was  of  the 
- 1  importance  that  I  should,  be- 
fore taking  such  a  step,  have  an  expla- 
nation with  your  majesty.' 
4  It  is  what  I  most  desire.' 

•  Perhaps,  sire,   it  would  be  better  to 
give  this  gazetteer  a  bag  of  money,  and 
let   him   go  to  a  great  distance  and  get 
himself  handed  there,  if  he  pleases.' 

4  And  tor  what  reason  ?' 

'  Because,  sire,  when  these  wretches 
write  positive  lies,  the  public,  when  this 
is  proved.  is  highly  delighted  on  seeing 
them  whipped,  their  ears  cut  off,  or 
even  hanged.  But  when  unfortunately, 
they  happen  to  tell  the  truth ' 

'The  truth?'— 

M.  de  Crosne  bowed. 

4  Yes,  I  know  it.  The  queen  did 
actually  go  to  Mesmer's  vat.  That  she 
did  go  there,  is  a  misfortune  as  you 
have  said ;  but  'I  had  given  her  per- 
mission.' 

4  Oh !      sire.'    murmured     M.    de 
Crosne. 

•  This  exclamation  coming  from  a 
respectful  subject,  struck  the  king's 
ear  more  painfully,  than  when  it  had 
been  uttered  by  the  envious  relation. 

'The  queen,,  is  not  I  imagine  lost  on 
that  account.'  said  the  king. 

4  No,  sire  ;  hut  compromised.' 

4  Tell  me  now,  M.  de  Crosne,  what 
has  your  police  siiid  upon  the  subject  ?' 

4  Sire,  many  things,  which  saving  the 
respect  which  1  owe  to  your  majesty, 
8itvi'!ur  the  very  respectful  adoration  I 
profess  towards  the  queen,  are  in  ac- 
cordance with  some  of  the  allegations 
contained  in  the  pamphlet.' 

4  In  accordance  do  yon  say  ?' 

•In  the  following  points,  a  queen  of 
France  who  goes  attired  as  a  woman  of 
low  rank  amid  n  crowd  of  persons  of  all 
descriptions,  attracted  by  the  magnetic 
extravagancies-  of  Mesmer,  and  who 
goes  there  alone — ' 

•  Alone  !'  exclaimed  the  king. 
4  Yes,  sire.' 

4  Y<>n  arc  mistaken,  M.  de  Crosne.' 
4 1  do  not  think  so,  sire.' 

•  Vntir  reports  are  incorrect.' 

•  s  >  precise,  sire,  that  I  can  give  you 
?•.  description  of  the  dress  her  majesty 
wore,   of  her  general  appearance,  her 

t      her  gestures,  her  cries.' 

•  H-'f  cries  !' 

The  king  turned  pnleand  crushed  the 
pamphlet  in  his  hand. 

•  ilcrst.hs    OVMII   were   noted   down 
by   my    u^-uts,1    timidly   added    M.   de 
Cl'OBQ 


4  Her  sighs  !'  Can  the  queen  have 
forgotten  herself  so  far  as  that.  Can 
she  have  held  so  cheaply  my  honor  as  a 
king,  her  honor  as  a  woman  ?' 

4  It  is  impossible,'  said  the  Count  de 
Provence  ;  4  it  would  be  more  than  scan- 
dalous, and  her  majesty  is  incapable — ' 

This  phrase  was  heaping  up  accusa- 
tion rather  than  an  excuse.  The  king 
felt  it;  and  all  this  was  most  repugnant 
to  him. 

4  Sir,'  said  he  to  the  lieutenant  of  po- 
lice, 4  do  you  maintain  all  that  you  have 
said?' 

'  Alas  .'  sire,  every  word  of  it.' 

4 1  owe  it  to  you,  brother,'  said  Louis 
XVI,  wiping  from  his  forehead  the 
perspiration  which  was  streaming  from 
it,  4 1  owe  it  to  you  to  prove  what  I  have 
advanced.  The  honor  of  the  queen  is 
that  of  all  my  house.  I  never  peril  it. 
I  permitted  the  queen  to  gq  to  Mes- 
mer's  vat;  but  I  had  enjoined  her  to 
take  with  her  a  safe,  irreproachable, 
and  I  may  say  even  holy,  person.' 

4  Ah."  said  ty.  de  Crosne,  4if  it  Ijad 
been  so — ' 

4  Yes,'  said  the  Count  de  Provence, 
4  if  such  a  woman  as  the  Princess  de 
Lamballe,  for  example — 

'  Brother,  it  was  precisely  the  Prin- 
cess de  Lamballe,  whom  I  had  desig- 
nated to  accompany  the  queen.' 

'Unfortunately,  sire,  the  princess 
was  not  taken.' 

•  Well,'  added  the  king,  shuddering 
as  he  spoke  ;  4  if  disobedience  has  been 
carried  to  this  extent,  I  ought  to  pu- 
nish, and  I  \vill  punish  severely.' 

A  profound  sigh  which  appeared  to 
rive  his  heart-strings  concluded  this  sad 
threat. 

4  Only,'  said  he  in  a  lower  tone,  4I 
have  still  one  doubt — in  this  doubt  you 
will  not  participate,  and  that  is  natural ; 
for  you  are  not  the  king,  the  husband, 
the  friend  of  the  person  who  is  ac- 
cused. This  doubt  I  must  clear  up.' 

He  rang  his  bell — the  officer  on  ser- 
vice came  into  the  room. 

4  Send  some  one,'  said  the  king,  4  to 
see  if  the  princess  de  Lambnlle  is  with 
the  queen,  or  in  her  own  apartment.' 

4  Sire,  madnme  de  Lamballe  is  now 
walking  in  the  private  garden  with  her 
majesty  and  another  lady/ 

'  Beg  the  princess  to  come  up  stairs, 
and  immediately. 

The  officer  left  the  room. 

•And  now,  gentlemen,  only  ten  mi- 
nutes more,  I  cannot  come  to  a  deci-1 
sion,  until  then.' 

And    Louis    XVI.,   contrary  to    his 


MYSTERIES  OF  THF,  COURT  OF  LOUIS  XVI. 


171 


usunl  habits  knit  his  brows,  and  darted 
at  the  two  witnesses  of  his  profound 
grief,  un  almost  threatening  look. 

The  two  witnesse  >  remained  silent. 
M.  de  Crosne  was  really  and  deeply 
grieved.  M.  de  Prove  uce  put  on  an 
air  of  affected  grief,  which  would  have 
saddened  even  Moir.ua  himself. 

A  light,  rustling  of  silk  was  heard 
outside  the  door,  which  warned^  the 
king  that  the  Princess  de  Lamballe  ap- 
proached. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

THK    PRINCESS    DK     l.AM  IIALLK. 

THE  Princess  de  LumbHlle  entered 
the  room,  with  much  calmness.  She 
was  beautiful ;  her  ringlets  were  thrown 
back  from  her  high  and  spacious  fore- 
head beyond  her  temples ;  her  eye 
brows  bjack  and  finely*arched  looked 
like  two  tf.in  traces  of  sepia;  her  blue 
eyes  were  limpid  and  dilated,  the  balls 
glistening  like  orient  pearls  ;  her  nose 
straight  and  finely  formed  ;  her  lips  at 
once  chaste  and  voluptious:  all  these 
beauties  surmounted  a  figure  of  unri- 
valled majesty,  which  charmed  even 
while  it  nweJ. 

In  the  whole  person  of  the  princess 
there  was  that  dignity  of  virtue,  grace 
and  immateriality  which  surrounded 
L;i  Vailit  re  before  her  faj).  and  after 
her  disgrace. 

When  the  king  saw  her  entering  the 
room,  smiling  and  modest,  he  felt  him- 
self overcome  with  grief. 

'Alas  !'  thought  he.  'the  words  which 
will  issue  from  that  mouth  will  be  a 
condemnation  without  appeal.' 

'Be  seated  princess'  mud  he,  bowing 
profoundly  t«>  h^r. 

M.  <le  Provence  approached  to  kiss 
her  hand. 

The  king  reflected. 

'  What  does  your  majesty  desire  of 
me  ?'  said  the  princess  in  the  voice  of 
an  angel. 

'  Some  information,  madam  ;  some 
precise  information,  my  cousin." 

•I  await  your  commands,  sire.' 

•On  what  dii}  dul  you  go  to  Paris  in 
company  with  the  queen?  Try  to  re- 
member it  exactly.' 

M.  de  Crosne  and  M.  de  Provence 
looked  at  ouch  o'her  with  surprise. 

1  You  iiii'l.-  -iaiid,  gentlemen,'  said 
the  kiug,  '  you  huve  no  doubts,  you  ; 


but   I    still   doubt,  and  consequently   I 
question  as  u  man  who  doubts.' 

•  It  was  on  Wednesday,  sire,'  replied 
the  princess. 

'  You  will  pardon  me,  my  cousin/ 
continued  Louis  XVT.  '  but  J  desire  to 
know  the  truth.' 

'  You  will  know  it  by  merely  ques- 
tio-ing  me,  sire,'  said  mudame  de  Lum- 
balle,  ingenuously. 

'  For  what  purpose  did  you  go  to 
Paris,  cousin?' 

' 1  went  to  M.  Mesmor'.-,  in  the  place 
Vendome,  sire.' 

The  two  witnesses  «tnrted,  the  king 
colored  with  emotion. 

'  Alone  ?'  said  he. 

'  No,  sire  ;  with  her  majesty  the 
queen.' 

'  With  the  queen  ?  you  say  with  the 
queen  ."  exclaimeo  Louis  XVI,  eagerly 
grasping  her  hands. 

'  Yes,  sire.' 

M.  de  Provence  and  M.  de  Crosne 
drew  nearer  to  her,  perfectly  as- 
tounded. 

'  Your  majesty  had  authorized  the 
queen,'  said  madame  de  Lamballe,  'at 
least,  so  her  majesty  informed  me.' 

'  And  her  majesty  was  right,  cousin. 
Now — it  appears  to  me  I  breathe  again; 
for  madame  de  Lamballe  never  utters 
falsehood.' 

'  Never  sire,'  softly  said  the  prin- 
cess. • 

'  Oh !  never,'  cried  M.  de  Crosne, 
with  the  most  respectful  conviction. 
'But  then,  sire,  allow  me — ' 

'Oh!  yes.  I  permit  you,  M.  de 
Crosne ;  cross-question,  r'o  what  you 
will.  I  place  my  dear  princess  upon 
the  rack.  I  give  her  up  to  you. 

Madame  de  Lamballe  smiled. 

'  I  am  ready,'  she  said  :  '  but  sire,  the 
torture  is  abolished.' 

'  Yes,  I  have  abolished  it  for  all 
others ;  but.  they  have  not  abolished  it 
for  me,'  cried  the  king,  with  a,  smile. 

'  Madame,'  said  the  lieutenant  of  po- 
lice,   'have    the   goodness   to   tell    the 
king   what  you    find    her   majesty    did 
while  at  M.   Mesmer's,   but  first  of  all 
I  how  her  majesty  was  dressed.' 

•  Her  majesty  wore  a  dress  of  pcarl- 
I  grey   taffeta,    an    embroidered    muslin 

mantle,  an  ermine  muff",  a  rose  colored 
',  velvet  bonnet,  with  large  Muck  ribbons.' 
This  description    wi.s    altogether  at 
variance  with  the  one  given  -if  Oliva. 

M.  de  Crosne  evinced  profound  SUT- 
I  prise      Tim  count  de.  Provence   bit  lib 
lips.     The  tJng  rubbed  his  huuds  with 
delight. 


172 


THE  QUEEN'S  NECKLACE;    OR,  THE 


•  And  what  did  the  quoen  on  entering 
the  liouso  ?' 

•Your  majesty  is  perfectly  right  in 
saying  on  entering,  for  we  had  scarcely 
got  in—' 

'Together?' 

•  Yea,    bire,    together ;  and   we   hnd 
scarcely  entered  the  first  drawing  room, 
where    no   one  could  have   noticed  us; 
such 'was  the   attention    given    to    the 
magnetic   mysteries,  when   a   lady  ap- 
proached her  majesty   and   ottered   her 
a  ina.sk,  entreating  her  not  to  advance 
farther.' 

•And  you  stopped  ?'  eagerly  inquired 
the  count  de  Provence. 

'  V»;s,  sir.' 

•And  you  did  not  cross  the  thresh- 
liold  of  the  first  drawing  room?'  asked 
the  lieutenant  of  policy 

»  No,  sir.' 

'  And  you  did  not  leave  the  queen's 
arm  ?'  said  the  king,  with  still  some  re- 
maining anxiety. 

4  Not  even  for  a  second.  The  arm  of 
her  majesty  was  unceasingly  leaning 
upon  mine/ 

•Well!'  suddenly  cried  the  king, 
•  what  think  you  of  this,  M.  de  Crosne  I 
Brother,  what  say  you  to  it?' 

'  It  is  extraordinary,  it  is  supernatu- 
ral,'said  Monsieur,  affecting  a  gaiety 
which  revealed  better  than  any  ex-, 
pressed  doubt  could  have  done,  his  great 
vexation  at  the  contradiction. 

•  There  is  nothing  at  all  supernatural 
in  this,'  hastily  rejoined  M.  de  Crosne, 
in  whom  the  very  natural  satisfaction  of 
the  king  inspired  a  species  of  remorse  ; 
4  what  the  princess  has  said  cannot  be 
other  than  the  truth.' 

•  The  result  of  this  i* — '  said  M.  de 
Provence. 

'  The  result  of  it  is,  my  lord,  that 
tuy  agents  have  been  mistaken.' 

'Do  you  speak  seriously?'  inquired 
the  Count  de  Provence  with  the  same 
nervous  start. 

'  Perfectly  so  ;  my  agents  hare  been 
mistaken  ;  her  majesty  did  precisely 
what  tnadame  de  Lamballe  has  told  us, 
mid  nothing  more.  As  to  the  gazet- 
teer I  am  convinced  by  the  words  of 
plain  simple  truth  which  the  princess 
has  uttered,  1  believe  that  the  rascal 
must  have  been  so  too.  1  will  send  the 
order  to  have  him  arrested  instantly.' 

Madame  de  Lamballe  turned  her 
head  from  the  one  to  the  other,  with 
the  calmness  of  innocence  which  wish- 
es to  be  informed,  with  neither  too 
much  curiosity  nor  apprehension. 

•  A    moment,    a   moment,'    said  the 


king,  •  there  will  always  be  time,  enough 
to  hang  tho  gay.etteer:  you  have  spoken 
of  a  woman  who  stopped  the  queen 
when  she  was  entering  the  drawing 
room.  Princess,  tell  us — who  was  thai 
woman  ?' 

'  Her  majesty  appears  to  know  her; 
I  will  even  say,  because  I  never  speak 
falsely,  that  her  majesty  does  know 
her,  tpr  she  has  told  me  so.' 

•  I  ask  you  this  cousin,'  said  the  king, 
because  1  must,  speak  to  that  woman; 
it  is  indispensable.     There    lies   all  the 
truth  ;  there  is  the  real  clue  to  ull  this 
mystery.' 

'And  that  is  my  opinion,'  said  M.  de 
Crosne,  towards  whom  the  king  had 
turned. 

'  Mere  gossip,'  murmured  the  Count 
de  Provence,  'this  woman  nppems  to 
me  like  the  winding  up  of  a  stupid 
story.' 

•My  cousin,'  said  he,  'did  the  queen 
acknowledge  to  you  that  she  knew  thii 
woman  ?' 

'  Her  majesty*  did  not  acknowledge 
this  to  me,'  replied  the  princess,  'aha 
merely  told  me  so.' 

'  Yes,  yes,  I  beg  your  pardon.' 

'  My  brother  mentis  to  say,'  observed 
the  king,  •  that  if  the  queen  knows  this 
woman,  you  also  know  her  name.' 

'It  is   Madame  de  la  Mothe   Valois.' 

'  That  intriguing  creature,'  cried  the 
king  with  irritation. 

'That  mendicant!1  said  the  count, 
'  the  deuse!  the  deuse  !  it  will  be  diffi- 
cult to  question  her:  she  is  cunning.' 

We  will  be  as  cunning  us  heiself," 
said  M.  de  Crosne ;  '  and,  moreover, 
there  can  be  no  cunning  after  the  de- 
claration of  Madame  de  Lamballe. — 
Therefore,  on  the  first  word  from  the 
king-' 

1  No,  no,'  said  Louis  XVI,  with  wtme 
vexation  ;  '  I  am  tired  of  seeing  the  bad 
society  by  which  the  queen  is  hur- 
rounded;  the  queen  is  so  benevolent 
that  the  pretext  of  poverty  brings  about 
her  all  the  questionable  characters  of 
the  minor  nobility  of  the  kingdom.' 

•But  Madame  de  la  Mothe  is  really  a 
Valois,'  said  Madame  de  Lamballe. 

'  Let  her  be  what  she  ui'jy,  cousin,  1 
will  not  allow  her  to  put  her  foot  within 
my  doors.  I  would  rather  forego  the 
immense  joy  whhh  the  complete  justi- 
fication of  the  queen  would  have  allonl- 
ed  me;  yes,  1  would  rather  renounce 
that  joy,  than  Bee  that  creature  face  to 
luce.' 

•  A  ml  yet  you   shall    see   her !'   ex- 
claimed Lite  ijueeu.  pule  with  rage,  axul 


MYSTERIES  OF  THE  COURT  OF  LOUIS  XVI. 


173 


the  door  of  the  cabinet  find 
h  nrs  elf.  lovely  with  nobleness 
•ml  indignation,  to  tho  affrighted  eyes 
of  tlie  Count  tie  Provencn,  who  bowin! 
awkwardly  to  linr  from  behind  the  door 
which  l):i:I  opened  upon  him. 

'  Yes,  sire,  it  is  not  snttrciant  to  any, 
I  would  like  to  nee,  or  I  ..in  afraid  to 
eeo  that  creature  ;  tlmt  creature  is  u 
witness  to  wh'jiu  tho  intelligence  of  my 
accusers — ' 

She  looked  fixedly  nt  her  brother-in- 
law  : 

4  And  the  candor  of  my  judges — ' 

She  turned  towards  the  king  and  M. 
de  Crosne : 

'To  whom,  in  short,  her  own  con- 
Bcience,  us  perverse  ns  it  may  be,  will 
force  her  to  utter  the  truth.  As  to  me, 
the  accused,  I  demand  that  this  woman 
be  heard,  and  she  shnil  be  heard.' 

'  Madam,'  said  the  king,  hurriedly, 
'you  will  readily  understand  that  no 
one  will  think  of  sending  for  Madame 
de  Lamolte,  to  do  her  the  honor  to  give 
her  testimony  for  or  against  you  ;  I  do 
not  put  your  honor  in  the  balance 
against  tho  veracity  of  such  a  woman.' 

'  Madame  de  Lamotte  will  not  be  sent 
for,  sire,  for  she  is  here.1 

•  Here  !'  exclaimed  the  king,  as  if  he 
bad  trod  upon  some  reptile  ;  '  here  !' 

'  Sire,  I  had  ns  you  well  know  paid 
a  visit  to  an  unfortunate  woman  who 
bears  an  illustrious  name.  It  was  on 
that  day,  when  so  many  things  were 
•aid — ' 

And  she  again  looked  intently  over 
her  shoulder  at  the  Count  de  Provence, 
who  wished  himself  a  hundred  feet  un- 
der ground  ;  but  whose  broud  smiling 
face  grinned  acquiescently. 

'  Well  ?'  said  Louie  XVI.' 

•  Well   on    that   day  I  forgot  at  ma- 
dame    de    Lamotte's   house,  a  box,    a 
portrait ;  she  has  brought  it  back  to  me 
to-day,  and  she  is  here.' 

'No,  no — Well!  I  »m  convinced,' 
cried  the  king.'  '  I  like  it  better  thus.' 

•  Oh  !  but»I  am  riot  satisfied,'  said  the 
queen.     1  will  introduce  her.     Besides, 
why  this  repugnance  ?'     What  has  she 
done  ?     Who   is  she   then  ?     If  I  am 
ignorant   on    this    head,    instruct   me. 
Corne   now,  M.   de  Crosne,   you   who 
know  everything,  tell  mo — ' 

•  I  know  not  anything  that  is  unfa- 
vorable to  this  day.'  replied  the  magis- 
trate . 

4  Is  that  really  true  ?' 

•  Assuredly.    She  is  poor — that  is  all; 
rtther  ambitious,  perhaps.' 

'  Ambition,  that  is  the  vo?co  of  noblo 


blood.  If  you  have  nothing  against 
her  moro  than  that,  the  king  may  rea- 
dily admit  hnr  to  give  testimony.' 

4 1  know  not  why,'  replied  Louis 
XVI.,  'but  I  have  presentiments,  in- 
stincts; I  feel  that  this  woman  will  be 
the  cause  of  some  misfortune — of  some 
disagree  nU0  occurrence  in  my  liib  ; 
Unit  is  quite  enough.' 

'Oh  !  siro,  can  you  be  superstitiouB ! 
run  and  fotch  her,*  said  the  queen  *x> 
tho  Princess  de  Lumballe. 

Five  minutes  afterwards  Jeanne, 
with  great  modesty,  seemingly  much 
abashed,  but  elegant  in  her  attitude  as 
well  as  in  her  attire,  entered  step  by 
stop  into  the  king's  cabinet. 

Louis  XVI.,  immovable  in  his  anti- 
pntliy,  hud  turned  his  back  towards  tha 
door.  With  both  elbows  on  his  desk,  his 
head  between  life  hands,  he  appeared 
to  be  a  stranger  amid  the  persona  pre- 
sent. 

The  Count  de  Provence  darted  such 
inquisitorial  glances  at  Jeanne  as  she 
advanced,  that  had  her  modesty  been 
real,  she  would  have  been  paralysed, 
and  not  a  word  would  have  issued  from 
her  lips. 

But  it  required  a  great  deal  more 
than  this  to  disturb  Jeanne's  equani- 
init". 

Nor  king  nor  emperor  with  their 
sceptres,  nor  pope  with  his  tiara,  nor 
celestial  powers,  nor  all  the  powers  of 
darkness  could  have  influenced  that 
iron  will,  by  either  fear  or  veneration. 

'  Madame,'  said  the  queen  to  her, 
leading  Jeanne  behind  the  king's  chair, 
'  be  pleased  to  say,  I  beg  of  you,  what 
you  did  on  the  day  I  went  to  M.  Mes- 
mer's  house  ;  be  pleased  to  relate  it  in 
every  particular.' 

Jeanne  remained  silent. 

'  No  reservation,  no  concealment 
whatever.  Nothing  but  the  truth,  let 
the  form  of  your  ideas  be  the  reflec- 
tion of  that  which  is  imprinted  on  your 
memory.'  / 

And  the  queen  seated  herself  in  an 
arm-chair  that  she  might  not  influence 
the  witness  even  by  i  look. 

What  a  part  for  Joanne  to  act!  for 
her,  whose  perspicuity  had  divined 
that  her  sovereign  stood  in  need  of 
her;  for  her,  who  felt  that  Marie  An- 
toinette had  been  falsely  suspected, 
«nd  could  be  exonerated  without  a  de- 
parture from  the  truth. 

Anyone  but  Joanne  hearing  thi.s  con- 
vewition  would  have  yielded  to  the 
pleasure  of  exculpating  the  <£uoen  by 
on  «xa iteration  of  the  proofs.. 


174 


THE,  QUEEN'S  NECKLACE;  OR,  THE 


But  Jeanne's  nnture  was  so  expansive, 

00  penetmting,   so    powerful   that  she 
confined  herself  to  a  simple  statement 
of  the  facts. 

'  Sire,'  said  she,  '  I  went  to  M.  Mes- 
mer's  from  curiosity,  as  all  Paris  goes 
there.  The  spectacle  appeared  to  me 
rather  vulgar.  I  was  about  to  retire, 
when  suddenly  on  the  threshold  of  the 
first  door,  I  perceived  her  Majesty, 
whom  I  had  the  honor  of  seeing  two 
nights  before,  without  knowing  her, 
h»-:-  Majesty  whose  generosity  had  re- 
vealed her  rank  to  me.  When  I  saw 
those  august  features,  which  never  can 
be  effaced  from  my  memory,  it  appeared 
to  me  that  the  presence  of  H.  iM.,  the 
•Queen  in  such  a  place  was  unbecom- 
ing, where  many  sufferings  and  ridicu- 
lous cures  were  exposed  to  public  gaze. 

1  humbly  pray  her  rffajesiy's  pardon  for  j 
having  dared  to  think   so  freely   on  her 
conduct,   but  the  thought  was  rapid  as 
lightning,  a  woman's  instinct.  I  demand 
pardon  on  rny  knees  if  I  have  overstep-  | 
ped  the   line  of  respect  which  I  owe  to  ' 
the  slightest  wishes  of  her  majesty.' 

She  then  paused,  feigning  to  be  much  ! 
moved   bending    down    her    head,  and 
with  unsurpassed  art,  almost  approach-  j 
ing  that   species   of  suffocation  which  i 
precedes  tears. 

M.  de  Crosne  was  deceived  by  it. —  ! 
Madame  de  Lamballe  felt  a  yearning  , 
kindness  towards  a  woman  who  appear-  ; 
ed  at  once  delicate,  timid,  talented  and  j 
good. 

M.  de  Provence  was  bewildered. 

The    Queen   thanked    Jeanne   by  a  i 
^  ance,    which  the    eyes   of  the    latter 
were  soliciting  or  rather  slily  watching  j 
for. 

'Well,'  said  the  Queen,  'you  have  [ 
heard,  sire.' 

The  King  did  not  move. 

1 1  did  not  need,'  said  he,  •  the  testi-  : 
ttiony  of  this  lady.' 

'I  was  told  to  speak,'  timidly  observ-  i 
ed    Jeanne,   '  and    it   was  my   duty    to 
obey.'  • 

'  Enough  !'~-harshly  cried  Louis  XVI, 
'when    the    Queen    snys  a   thing,    she  • 
does  not  require  witnesses  to  prove  her 
rruth.     When  the  Queen    has  my  ap- , 
probation,  six*  need  not  seek  that  of  any  ; 
other  person  ;  and  she  has  my  approba- 
tion.' 

He  rose  when  he  had    spoken    th.'se  j 
words,  which  almost  annihilated  M.  de 
Provence. 

The  Queen  did  not  fail  to  add  a  dis- 
dainful emile. 

The  King  turned  his  back  to  his  bro- 


ther, and  kissed  the  hnpd  of  Marie  An- 
toinette and  of  the  Princess  de  Lam- 
balle. 

He  dismissed  the  latter  by  apologi- 
zing for  having  troubled  her,  '•for  no- 
thing,' added  he. 

He -did  not  address  a  word  or  a  look 
to  Madame  de  La  Mothe;  but  as  he  was 
obliged  to  pass  before  her  to  reach  his 
arm  chair,  and  that  he  feared  to  offend 
the  queen  by  failing  in  politeness  and  in 
her  presence  towards  a  lady  she  re- 
ceived, he  mastered  his  feelings  so  far 
as  to  make  her  a  slight;  bow,  to  which 
she  replied,  without  any  appearance  of 
hurry  or  agitation  by  a  profound  curtesy 
in  which  she  displayed  all  her  graceful- 
ness. 

Madame  de  Lamballe  was  the  first  to 
leave  the  cabinet,  then  Madame  de  La 
Mottle  whom  the  queen  pushed  on  be- 
fore, and  the  latter  as  she  left  the 
room  exchanged  a  last  look,  whieh  was 
one  almost  of  tenderness,  with  the 
king. 

And  then  w*s  heard  the  voices  of  the 
three  ladies  as  they  went  along  the 
passage  conversing  with  each  other. 

4  Brother,'  said  Louis  XVI.,  to  the 
Count  de  Provence,  '  I  will  not  detain 
you  any  longer ;  I  have  the  week's  af- 
fairs to  get  through  with  the  lieutenant 
of  police.  But  before  you  leave  me  I 
must  thank  you  for  having  lent  your  at- 
tention to  this  full,  striking,  and  de- 
cisive justification  of  your  sister.  It  is 
easily  perceived  that  you  are  as  much 
rejoiced  at  it  as  I  arn,  and  that  is  not 
saying  little.  Now,  for  us  two,  M.  de 
Crosne,  sit  down  there  I  beg  of  you*' 

The  Count  de  Provence  bowed,  still 
smiling,  nud  left  the  cabinet  when  he  no 
longer  heard  the  ladies,  and  when  he 
thought  there  was  no  further  danger 
of  receiving  a  malicious  look  or  a  bitter 
word. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

IW  THE  qUEKN'8  APAKTMEJNT 

THE  Queen,  after  leaving  the  cabinet 
of  Louis  XVI.,  July  appreciated  the 
groat  danger  she  had  incurred. 

Slie  knew  how  to  estimate  the  value 
of  the  great  delicacy  and  reserve  which 
Jeanne  had  evinced  in  her  extempora- 
neous deposition,  as  also  the  really  re- 
markulilo  tact,  with  which,  after  liar- 
ing  succeeded,  blie  had  remained,  uutt  it 
were,  iu  the  back  grouud. 


MYSI  KKIKS  OF.THE  COURT  OF  LOUIS  XVI. 


175 


And  iu  lact  Jeanne,  who  had,  wfth 
unprecedented  good  fortune,  and,  at  her 
very  first  step  become  initiated  into  se- 
crets and  admitted  to  that;  confidential 
^intimacy,  which  the  most  adroit  cour- 
tiers spend  years  in  socking  to  acquire 
without  altaining  it,  and  being  now 
certain  of  becoming  of  important  ser- 
vice to  the  Quer.n,  would  not  take  ad- 
vantage of  it  by  assuming  an  air  of  tri- 
umph, which  flu'  haughty  susceptibility 
of  thi?  great  can  at  once  discern  on  the 
features  of  their  inferiors.  / 

There  tore,  tho  Queen  instead  of  ac- 
ceding to  Jeanne's  request,  to  allow  her 
to  oiler  her  respects  and  withdraw, 
retained  her  with  an  amiable  smile, 
•aying  : 

•It  was  really  fortunate,  Countess, 
that  you  prevented  me  from  going  into 
Mestner's  with  the  Princess  de'Lam- 
balle,  for  only  think  of  such  vileness, 
some  one  must  have  seen  me,  either  at 
the  door,  or  in  the  ante-chamber,  and 
they  have  taken  that  as  a  text  for  say- 
ing that  I  had  been  in  the  crisis  room, 
BB  they  call  it,  I  believe.' 

'  Yes,  Madam,  the  crisis  room.' 

•  But,'  said  the  Princess  de  Latnballe, 
•how  could   it  happen  that,  supposing 
even  the  spectators  knew  the  Queen  to 
be   there,  the  agents  of  M.  de  Crosne 
were  so  mistaken  ?  There,  in  my  opin- 
ion, lies  all  the  mystery  ';  the  agents  of 
the  lieutenant  of  police  have  positively 
affirmed  that  the  Queen  was  in  the  cri- 
sis room.' 

•  That  is  true,'  said  the   queen,  pen- 
sively, '  and  M.  de  Crosne.  who  is  an 
honest  man,  and  much  devoted  to  me, 
can  have  no  interest  in  spreading  such 
a  report ;    but   agents   rnay   be    bribed, 
dear  Latnballe.   I  have  enemies,  as  you 
see.' 

•  This   rumor   must,   however,    have 
hud   some  species  of  foundation.      Will 
you  inform  us  of  the  details,  countess  ?' 

•  In   the   first    place,    the    infamous 
pamphlet  represents  me  as  being  intox- 
icat.'d,    fascinated,    magnetized  to  such 
a  .'..•:.,  i-o.;,  that  I  had  lost  all  dignity  as  a 
woman.     What  is   there  in   the   least 
probable  in  all  this  ?  Was  there,  in  fact, 
on  that  day,  a  woman — ' 

Joanne  blushed.  The  secret  again 
present* •<!  itself  to  her  mind,  the  secret, 
one  single  word  of  which  might  destroy 
her  fatal  influence  over  the  destiny  of 
the  quoi'tJ. 

By    revealing    that    secret,    Jeanne 
would  lose  the  opportunity  of  being  use- 
ful,  indispensable   even,   to  the  queen,  j 
It  would  ruin  h.-r  fuliiiv  pr<    pr-c:*.  and! 


:  therefore  she  determined  on  remaining 
silent  on  the  sulrject  ns  before. 

'Madam,'  said  she,  'there  was  in 
fact  a  woman  who  attracted  much  at- 
tention by  her  contortions  and  her  deli- 
rium. But  it  appears  to  me — ' 

'It  appears  to  you,'  eagerly  said  the 
queen,  '  that  this  woman  must  have  be- 
longed to  one  of  the  theatres,  or  some 
improper  character  of  which  there  are 
so  many  in  Paris,  and  not  the  Queen 
of  France  ?' 
.  'Oh  !  certainly  not,  madam.' 

'  Countess,"  you  replied  well  to  the 
King  ;  and  now  it  is  my  turn  to  speak 
for  you.  Corne  now,  what  is  the  state 
of  your  affairs  ?  When  do  you  expect 
that  your  rights  will  be  recognized  ?— 
But  is  there  not  some  one  at  the  door. 
Princess  ?' 

Madame  de  Misery  entered  the  room. 

1  Will  your  Majesty  be  pleased  to  re- 
ceive Mademoiselle  de  Taverney  ?'  ask- 
ed the  femme  de  chambre. 

'  What,  Mademoiselle  de  Taverney  J 
Assuredly.  Oh!  the  ceremonious  crea- 
ture !  She  will  never  fail  in  any  point 
of  etiquette.  Andree  !  Andree  !  come 
in.' 

'  Your  Majesty,  is  too  good  to  me,' 
said  the  latter,  courtesying  gracefully. 

And  she  perceived  Jeanne,  who  re- 
cognizing the  second  German  lady  be- 
longing to  the  charitable  institution,  had 
immediately  summoned  to  her  aid  a 
blush  and  modest  look,  both  which  she 
had  always  at  command. 

The  Princess  de  L;.mballe  took  ad- 
vantage of  this  reinforcement  the  Queen 
had  received  to  return  to  Sceaux,  to  the 
seat  of  the  Duke  de  Penthievre. 

Andree  took  her  place  by  the  Queen's 
side,  her  calm  and  scrutinizing  eyes 
fixed  upon  Madame  de  la  Mothe. 

•  Well,  Andree,'  said  the  Queen, 
'  this  is  the  lady  whom  we  went  to  see, 
the  last  day  of  the  frost.' 

'  I  had  recognised  the  lady,'  said  An- 
dree, making  an  inclination  of  the  head. 

Jeanne,  already  proud  of  her  favor 
with  the  Queen,  endeavored  to  discover 
in  the  features  of  Andree,  some  symp- 
tom of  jealous  feeling.  She  saw  no- 
thing there,  but  perfect  indifference. 

Andree,  influenced  by  the  same  pas- 
sions as  the  Queen,  Andre*',  a  woman, 
and  superior  to  all  women  in  goodness, 
iu  mind  and  in  generosity,  had  shebeen 
happy,  Andree  enfolded  herself  in  a 
veil  of  impenetrable  dissimulation, 
which  all  tin;  Cuurt  imagined  to  be  but 
the  prou'l  modesty  of  the  cha*le  Diana, 

'  L)o   you    know.'    sui  !    'In-    Queen, 


176 


THE  QUEEN'S  NECKLACE;  OR,  THE 


«vrhst  thoy  have  beeo  saying  to  the 
King  about  me  ?' 

"They  must  hiive  said  nil  that  is  bad,' 
replied  Andrew, 'precisely  betmuaethey 
could  nevnr  ii.'id  words  enough  to  suy 
all  thiit  is  good.' 

'  That  is,'  observed  Jeanne,  in  a  per- 
fectly natural  and  unaitected  manner, 
'the  most  beautiful  sentence  I  have 
ever  heard.  1  say  beautiful,  because  it 
renders,  without  the  slightest  diminu- 
tion, a  feeling  which  is  that  of  my  whole 
life,  and  because  my  weak  intelligence 
could  uover  have  expressed  it  so  con- 
cisely nud  so  well.' 

•  I  will  toll  you  the  whole  story,  An- 
dree.' 

'  Oh  !  I  know  it,'  replied  the  latter  ; 
4  the  Count' de  Provence  was  relating 
it,  but  now ;  a  friend  of  mine  heard 
him.' 

'It  is  n  happy  method,'  said  the  queen 
angrily,  '  of  propagating  falsehood  after 
having  paid  homage  to  the  truth.  But 
no  more  of  that.  1  was  just  speaking 
to  the  Countess  wilh  regard  to  her  own 
prospects.  Who  now  protects  and  fur- 
thers your  interests,  Countess?' 

'You,  Madam,'  said  Jeanne  boldly  ; 
1  you  who  pern?  it  me  to  come  here  to 
kias  your  hand.' 

•She  has  a  heart,'  said  Marie  Antoi- 
nette to  Andre**.  'I  like  these  sudden 
outbursts.' 

Andree  said  not  a  word. 

'  Madam,'  continued-  Jeanne,  'there 
were  few  people  bold  enough  to  protect 
me  when  1  was  in  penury  and  obscuri- 
ty ;  but  now,  after  it  shall  be  known 
that  I  have  beeu  at  Versailles,  every 
body  will  rush  forward  and  dispute  as 
to  which  shall  bti  Jirst  in  doing  that 
which  would  i>e  agreeable  to  the  queen, 
I  mean  to  say,  to  a  person  whom  her 
majesty  has  deigned  to  honor  with  a 
look.' 

'  What !'  said  the  queen  sitting  down, 

•  has  no  one  been  bold  enough,  or  cor- 
rupt, enough,  to  espouso  your  interests 
on  your  own  account]' 

'  First  of  all,  1  hud  Madame  de  Bou- 
|ainvilliei>.  a  woman  of  courage,  then 
M.  de  Boulainvilliers,  a  corrupt  protec- 
tor, but,  since  my  marriage,  not  one— 
not  a  single  soul,'  added  Jeanne,  with 
a  most  skilful  syncopatic  depression. — 

•  Oti !   I  ask  your  pardon,  I  had  forgot- 
ten  a    most  worthy   man,   a   generous 
prince.' 

'A  prince!  countess,  who  can  that 
be?' 

'  His  eminence  the  Cardinal  de  Pu>- 
han.' 


'  The  queen   made   n  gesture  of  sur- 
prise. '  My  enemy  !'  said  she,  smiliwg. 

4  An  enemy  of  your  majesty!  Hi-! 
the  Cardinal,'  exclaimed  Jeanne.  'Oh! 
mad, mi.' 

•One  would  sny  that  it  astonished 
you,  countess,  to  hear  that  u  queen 
should  have  an  enemy.  It  is  easily 
perceived  you  have  not  lived  at  court.' 

'  Why,  madam,  the  Cardinal  has  the 
most  profound  adoration  for  your  ma- 
jesty, at  least  I  thought  so  ;  and  if  I  am 
not  mistaken,  hi.s  respect  for  the  august 
consort  of  his  king  equals  his  devoted- 
ness. 

'Oh!  I  believe  you,  Countess,'  replied 
Marie  Antoinette,  yielding  to  her.  na- 
turally lively  disposiiiou.  'I  believe  a 
part  of  what  you  say.  Yes,  that  is  it, 
the  Cardinal  is  in  adoration.' 

And  saying  this,  she  turned  towards 
Andree  de  Taverney,  laughing  very 
heartily. 

'  Well,  Countess,  agreed  ;  the  Cardi- 
nal is  in  adoration.  And  for  that  reason 
he  is  my  enemy.' 

Jeanne  de  la  Mothe  affected  the  sur- 
prise of  an  ignorant  country  girl. 

'  Ah  !  you  are  the  protegee  of  the 
prince  Cardinal  Louis  de  Rohan,'  con- 
tinued the  Queen.  '  Pray,  tell  us  all 
about  it,  Countess.' 

'  It  is  all  perfectly  natural,  Madam. 
His  eminence  by  the  most  magnani- 
mous, most  delicate  mode  of  proceed- 
ing, and  the  most  ingenious  generosity 
has  come  to  my  assistance.' 

'  That  is  quite  right.  Prince  Louis 
is  prodigal,  that  quality  cannot  be  denied 
him.  Do  you  not  believe  Andree,  that 
his  eminence  the  Cardinal  may  also  feel 
some  adoration  for  this  pretty  Countess? 
Hey  !  Countesn,  come  now  tell  us.' 

And  Marie  Antoinette  again  relapsed 
into  her  joyous  and  happy  laughter, 
which  Mademoiselle  de  Taverney,  al- 
ways serious,  did  not,  however,  encou- 
rage. 

'  It  is  not  possible  that  this  noisy  live- 
liness, can  be  other  than  n  factitions 
liveliness,' thought  Jeanne.  'But  let 
us  see.' 

'  Madam,'  said  she,  with  u  grave  air 
and  an  accent  of  perfect  conviction,   'I 
have   the   honor  to  affirm  to  your  ma- 
i  jesty  that  M.  de  Rohan' — 

•  'Tis  well !  'tis  well !'  cried  the 
queen,  interrupting  the  countess,  'since 
you  are  so  zealous  in  his  dufence — since 
you  are  his  friend' — 

»  Oh  !  madam,'  exclaimed  Jeanne, 
with  a  delicious  expression  of  modesty 
and  respect. 


T 


MYSTERIES  OF  THE  COURT  OF  LOUIS  XVI. 


1TJ 


4  Very  well,  dear  little  one ;  very 
well,'  rejoined  the  queen,  with  n  sweet 
emilo  ;  '  but  usk  him,  then,  what  ho  hits 
done  with  the  lock  or'  hair  that  ho 
bribed  n  certain  hair-dresser  to  steal 
from  me,  but  which  trick  cost  the  poor 
man  dearly,  for  I  dismissed  him.' 

4  Your  majesty  surprises  me,'  said 
Joanne.  4  What!  Could  M.  de  Rohan 
have  done  this  ?' 

•Oh  !  yes — but  'tis  adoration,  nothing 
but  adoration ;  after  having  execrated 
me  at  Vienna,  after  having  by  every 
means  attempted  to  break  otf  the  mar- 
Huge  projected  between  the  king  and 
me  ;  he  one  day  all  at  once  discovered 
that  I  WHS  a  woman,  and  that  I  was  his 
queen  ;  that  he,  the  great  diplomatist, 
had  made  a  stupid  blunder,  and  that  he 
would  always  be  in  a  false  position  with 
regard  to  me.  He  then  became  alarmed 
as  to  his  fut.ure  prospects,  the  dear 
prince.  He  did.  as  do  all  those  of  his 
profession  who  caress  those  most  of 
whom  they  have  most  fear,  and  as  he 
ktrcw  that  I  WHS  young;  and  thought 
that  I  was  silly  and  vain,  he  took  upon 
himself  to  play  the  Celadon.  After 
sighs  and  languishing  airs,  he  threw 
himself,  as  you  say,  into  downright 
adoration.  He  adores  me,  is  it  not  so; 
Andree  ?• 

•  Madame  ."  exclaimed  Andree,  bow-' 
iug. 

4  Yes,  Andree,  also,  does  not  wish  to 
be  brought  into  question  ;  but  I  do  not 
mind  venturing:  royalty  should  at  least 
have  somn  privileges.  Countess,  1  know, 
and  you  know,  that  the  Cardinal  adores 
me  ?  That  is  a  settled  thing  ;  toll  tiim 
that  I  am  not  of  course  angry  with  him 
on  that  account.' 

Those  words,  which  contained  the 
most  bitter  irony,  had  a  deep  ellbct  on 
the  gangrened  heart  of  Jeaune  de  la 
Mothe. 

Had  her  mind  been  pure,  noble  and 
loyal,  she  would  have  seen  in  them  only 
the  supreme  disdain  of  a  woman  of  sub- 
limn  mind,  the  perfect  contempt  of  a 
superior  soul, for  the  low  intrigues  which 
were  agitating  those  beneath  her.  This 
superior  race  of  women,  these  nngels, 
ui .for  unately  so  rare,  in  human  form, 
disdain  to  defend  thrir  reputations 
against  tho  snares  which  are  laid  for 
them  ou  this  earth. 

They  will  not  even  suspect  the  exis- 
tence of  the  filthy  slime  by  whose  con- 
tact they  are  polluted,  that  slime  in 
which  they  leave  the  most  brilliant  fea- 
thers of  their  golden  wings. 

Jeaune,  beiug   of  a   vulgar  and  cor- 


rupted nature,  thought  there  was  much 
of  spite  in  this  manifestation  of  the 
Quw»n's  ang£r  at  the  conduct  of  the 
Cardinal  de  Rohan.  She  recollected 
the  rumors  that  had  been  whispered 
abroad,  rumors  consisting  only  of  scan- 
dalous syllables,  and  which  had  found 
their  way  from  Court  even  into  the  re- 
mote suburbs  of  Paris  and  had  been  there 
echoed  currently. 

The  Cardinal,  who  was  an  admirer  of 
women  for  their  sex,  had  said  to  Louis 
XV,  who  admired  them  on  the  same 
principle,  that  the  Dauphiness  was  not 
a  perfect  woman.  The  singularsayings 
of  Louis  XV.  on  the  marriage  of  his 
grandson  will  be  remembered,  as  well 
as  his  questions  to  a  certain  ingenuous 
ambassador. 

Jeanne,  a  perfect  woman  if  ever  one 
existed.  Jeanne,  a  woman  from  head 
to  foot.  Jeanne,  vain  of  every  hair  of 
her  hend,  her  greatest  ornament.  Je- 
anne who  felt  the  necessity  of  pleasing 
and  conquering  by  every  ad.vant.agu  she 
possessed,  could  not  imagine  that  any 
woman  could  think  otherwise  than  she 
did  on  theso  delicate  points. 

4  There  is  spiteful  vexation  on  the 
part  of  the  Queen,'  said  she  to  herself, 
«and  therefore  there  must  be  something 
more.' 

.  Then  reflecting  tlrtit  discussion  pro- 
duces information,  she  began  to  defe.  d 
M.  de  Rohan,  with  all  tint  ingenuity 
and  curiosity  with  which  nature,  as  an 
indulgent  mother,  had  so  largely  en- 
dowed her. 

The  Queen  listened  to  her. 

4  Ah  !  she  listens  to  me,'  said  Jeanne. 

And  the  Countess  deceived  by  her 
own  evir  nature,  did  not  perceive  that 
the  Queen  was  listening  to  her  from 
generosity  of  feeling — because  at  Court 
it  was  unusual  fqr  any  one  to  speak  well 
of  whom  the  sovereign  thoug-it  ill. 

This  innovation  of  a  received  usage, 
this  derogation  from  the  habits  of  the 
palace,  pleased  the  Queen  and  render- 
ed her  almost  happy. 

Marie  Antoinette  imagined  she  per- 
ceived a  generous  heart,  where  God 
had  only  placed  an  eager  and  thirsty 
sponge. 

The  conversation  was  continued  on  a 
footing  of  kind  intimacy  on  the  pan  of 
the  Queen;  Jeanne  was  upon  thorns; 
her  countenance  became  embarrassed  : 
she  saw  no  possible  means  of  getting 
away  but  by  a  dismissal;  she,  who  l-ut 
a  short  time  before,  had  played  the  ad- 
vantageous part  of  a  stranger  who  had 
asked  permission  to  retire  ;  but  sudduu- 


THE  QUEEN'S  NECKLACE;  OR,    I  UK 


ly  »i  joyous,  youthful  and  loud  voice  re- 
Bounded  in  the  neighboring  room. 

'The  Count  d'Artois!'  srfjd  the  Queen. 

Andree  imtnedintely  rose.  Jeanne 
prepared  to  withdraw,  but  the  Piince 
BO  suddenly  entered  the  room  where 
the  Queen  was,  thnt  to  get  out  was  al- 
most impossible.  However..  Madame 
de  la  Mothe  did  that  which  in  theatrical 
language  is  termed — made  a  show  of 
retiring. 

The  Prince  stopped  short  on  seeing 
this  lovely  person  and  bowed  to  her. 

•The  Countess  de  la  Mothe,'  said  the 
Queen,  presenting  Jeanne  tothe  Prince. 

'Ah!  ah!'  cried  the  Count  d'Artois. 
'Do  not  let  me  drive  you  away,  Count- 
ess.' 

The  Queen  made  a  sign  to  Andree, 
who  detained  Jeanne. 

This  sign  was  meant  to  imply ;  '  I  had 
intended  to  make  some  recompense  to 
Madame  de  In  Mothe  ;  I  have  not  yet 
hud  time,  but  will  do  so  by  and  by.' 

'  You  have  returned  then  from  your 
wolf  hunt,'  said  the  Queen  giving  her 
hand  to  her  brother  in  he  English  fash- 
ion, which  was  just  coming  into  vogue. 

4  Yes,  sister,  and  I  have  had  good 
sport,  for  I  have  killed  seven,  and  thai 
is  enormous,'  replied  the  Prince. 

'  Killed  them  all  yourself  ?' 

'I  am  not  quite  positive  of  that.'  said 
he  laughing,  '  but  they  told  me  that  I 
did.  In  the  meantime,  sister,  let  me 
tell  you  that  I  have  earned  seven  hun- 
dred livres.' 

1  Really  !   and  how  ?' 

'  You  must  know  that  they  pay  a 
hundred  livres  for  every  head  of  these 
horrible  animals.  It  is  very  dear,  but 
I  would  heartily  give  two  hundred  tor 
the  head  of  every  gazetteer.  And  you, 
sister  ?' 

4  Ah  !'  s!iid  the  Queen,  '  you  already 
know  that  story.' 

'  M.  de  Provence  related  it  to  mo.' 

•And  that  makes  I  hree.' rejoined  Ma- 
rie Antoinette.  'Monsieur  is  u  most 
intrepid,  indefatigable  re  later  of  stories. 
Just  tell  us  how  he  related  this  to  you.' 

»In  a  waylo  make  you  appear  whiter 
than  the  ermine,  whiter  than  Venus 
rising  from  the  sen.' 

'  It  is  not  less  true  thnt  he  related  the 
adventure  to  you  ?' 

'  Of  the  ga/.etteer,  oh  !  yea,  sister. 
But  your  majesty  got  out  of  it  with 
honor.  One  might  even  say,  if  disposed 
jo  make  such  puns  as  Monsieur  de 
Bievre  makes  every  day,  that  the  affair 
pf  the  tub  is  clean  washed.' 

'  Oh  !  the  horrible  piny  of  worda.' 


'Sister,  dt>  not  ill-treat  .:  kiii 
rant,  who  cuine  to  place  his  lance 
arm  at  your  disposal.  Hnppily  you  do 
not  stand  in  need  of  one.  Ah  !  my  dear 
sister,  are  you  no!  fortunate,  eh  ?' 

'You  call  ti.i*  fortunate,  do  you  ?  Do 
you  hear  him,  Andree?' 

Jeanne  laughed  ;  the  Count  who  had 
kept  his  eyes  continually  upon  her, 
gave  her  courage.  The  Queen  had 
spoken  to  Andree.  it  was  Jrauno  who 
replied. 

'  It  is  fortunate,'  repeated  the  Count 
d'Artois,  •  for  in  short  it  might  have 
happened,  my  very  dear  sister,  first, 
that  Madame  de  Lumballe  had  not  ac- 
companied you.' 

'  Should  I  have  gone  alone  ?' 

'Secondly:  That  Madame  de  la  Mothe 
hud  not  happened  to  meet  you  there  to 
prevent  your  entering  the  room.' 

'  Ah  !  you  know  that  the  Countess 
was  there  ?' 

'Sister,  when  the  Count  de  Provence 
undertakes  to  relate  a  story,  he  relates 
it  all.  It  might  have  happened  also  that 
Madame  de  la  Mothe  had  not  come  to 
Versailles  at  the  precise  moment  re- 
quired to  give  her  evidence.  You  are 
about,  doubtless,  to  tell  me  that  virtue 
and  innocence  are  like  the  violet,  which 
needs  not  to  be  seen  to  be  discovered  ; 
but  they  make  bouquets  of  violets,  sis- 
ter, when  they  are  seen  and  they  are 
thrown  away  when  once  their  perfume 
is  inhaled.  That  is  my  moral.' 

'  A  very  fine  one,  truly.' 

'I  take  it  as  I  find  it,  and  I  have  prov- 
ed to  you  that  you  are  fortunate.' 

'  It  is  but  badly  proved.' 

4  Must  I  prove  it  better?' 

•It  would  not  be  superfluous.' 

'  Well  then  !  you  are  unjust  thus  to 
accuse  fortune,' said  the  Count  gently 
twirling  on  his  heel  and  falling  upon 
the  sofa,  beside  the  Queen,  'for  in 
short,  saved  from  the  famous  mud  prank 
of  the  cabriolet — ' 

-  One,'  said  the  Queen,  counting  upon 
her  fingers. 

'Sa/ed  from  the  tub — ' 

4  Be  it  so.  I  will  count  that,  two ; 
go  on.' 

'  And  saved  from  the  ball  affair,'  said 
he,  whispering  in  her  ear. 

'  What,  ball  /' 

'The  opera  ball.' 
•4  What  said  you  ?' 

4 1  say  the  opera  ball.' 

4 1  do  not  understand  you.' 

The  Count  laughed. 

'  What  a  simpleton  I  must  bo,  to 
apeak  to  you  of  u  secret.' 


MYSTERIES  OF  THE  COURT  OF  LOUIS  XVI.  179 


•  A  secret !  In  truth  brother,  it  is  easy 
to  perceive  that  you  are  speaking  of  i 
masked    bull,  for  1  am  completely  mys- 
tified.' 

The  words,  b»ll,  opera,  had  struck 
Jeanne's  ears.  She  redoubled  her  ut- 
tention. 

1  Hush  !  not  a  word,  not  a  word,'  said 
the  Prince. 

'  There    is    no   occasion  for  secresy. 
Let  us  explain  this.     You  were  spend- 
ing of  some  affair  at  the  Opera ;  what  is 
it  that  you  mean  ?' 
^        'I  implore  your  pity,  sister.' 

•I  insist,  Count,  upon  knowing.' 
•And  I,  sister,  on  remaining  silent.' 
•Do  you  mean  to  disoblige  me  ?' 
•By  no  means,  I  have  said  enough,  I 
imagine,  for  you  to  understand  me.' 
'  You  have  said  nothing  at  all.' 
1  Ob !  little  sister,  it  is  you  who  are 
now    mystifying    me — come    now — in 
good  earnest.' 

•  Upon  my  honor,  I  am  not  jesting.' 
•You  wish  me  to  speak  out?' 

'  And  i'  stantly.' 

•It  must  be  in  some  other  place  then,' 
s:ii. I  the  Count,  pointing  to  Jeanne  and 
Andree. 

4  No  ;  here  !  here  !  There  nre  never 
too  many  witnesses  to  an  explanation.' 

•Beware!  beware!  sister.' 

•  Oh  !  I  will  risk  all.' 

•You  were  not  at  the  last  Opera  ball?' 

•  Whiit.  I  ?'  exclaimed  the  Queen,  'I. 
at  the  Opera  bull!' 

•  Hush  !  for  mercy's  sake.' 

•Oh!   no,  let.  us  even  cry  out  loudly. 
You  say  that.  I  was  at  the  Opera  ball .'' 
•Certainly,  you 'were  there.' 

•  You    saw  me  there,  perhaps,*  said 
the  Queen  ironically,  but  still  up  to  this 
time  jocularly. 

•  1  did  see  you  there.' 
'  Mrt  !   me  !' 

4  You!  you !' 

•That  surpasses  everything.' 

•  Precisely  the  words   I  used   myself 
on  seeing  you.' 

•  Why   do  you   not   say  nt  once  thnt 
you  spoke  to   me;  that   would   be  still 
more  droll.' 

•Upon  my  word  I  was  about  to  speak 
to  you  when  a  crowd  of  masks  rushed 
between  us  and  separated  us.' 

•  You  are  mad  !' 

•  I  was  quite  sure  that  you  would  tell 
me  so;  I    ought    not   to    have  exposed 
myself  to  it — it  is  my  own  fault.' 

The  Queen  suddenly  started  up, 
walked  about  the  room  in  an  agitated 
manner.  The  Count  gazed  at  her  with 
aslouiHument.  Audree  shuddered  with 


fear  and  anxiety.  Jeanne  did  all  she 
could  to  appear  unmoved. 

The  Queen  stopped. 

'  My  good  friend,'  said  she  to  the 
young  Prince,  •  do  not  let  us  carry  on 
ihis  jest  any  farther;  my  temper  is  so 
bad,  that  you  see  I  am  already  getting 
out  of  patience.  Acknowledge  quickly 
that  you  have  been  trying  to  amuse 
yourself  at  my  expense,  and  you  will 
make  me  happy.' 

•  I  will  acknowledge  that,  if  it  pleases 
you,  sister.' 

•  Be  serious,  Charles.' 

'  As  a  fish,  dear  sister.' 

'For  mercy's  sake  tell  me  that  you 
have  invented  this  story — is  it  not  so  ?' 

He  winked,  and  looked  at  the  two 
ladies. 

•  Yes.     I  did  invent  it ;  pray  forgive 
me.' 

'  You  have  not  understood  me,  bro- 
ther,' rejoined  the  Qjueen,  with  vehe- 
mence. '  Yes,  or  no,  and  before  these 
ladies,  do  you  retract  what  you  have 
said  ?  Do  not  speaK  fulsely,  do  not 
spare  me.' 

Andree  and  Jeanne  ran  and  placed 
themselves  behind  the  Gobelins  tapestry. 

'  Well,  then,  sister,'  said  the  prince, 
in  a  low  tone,  when  the  ladies  had  gone, 
•  I  have  spoken  but  the  truth ;  why  did 
you  not  warn  me  sooner.' 

'  You  saw  me  at  the  opera  ball?' 

4  As  plainly  us  I  see  you  now,  and  yon 
also  saw  me.' 

The  queen  uttered  a  loud  cry,  called 
to  Jeanne  and  Andree,  ran  to  seek  them 
behind  the  tapestry,  and  taking  each  of 
them  by  a  hand,  dragged  them  rapidly 
back  to  ihe  sofa. 

'  Ladies,'  said  f.he,  '  the  Count  d  Ar- 
tois  affirms  that  he  saw  me  at  the  opera 
ball.' 

Oh !'  murmured  Andree. 
It   is   too   late   to  retract — prove— 
prove.' 

Thus  it  was  :  I  was  there  with  the 
Marshal  de  Richelieu — with  M.  de  Ca- 
onne,  with — several  other  people,  in 
short — your  mask  fell  off.1 

•  My  mask  !' 

•I  was  just  going  to  say  to  you.  thia 
s  more  than  temerity,  sister;  but  you 
Jisappeared,  dragged  away  by  the  cava- 
ier  who  gave  you  his  arm.' 

'  The  cavalier !  oh  !  gracious  heaven  J 
you  will  drive  me  mad.' 

4  A  blue  domino,'  said  the  prince. 

The  queen  pressed  her  hand  to  her 
forehead. 

4  And  on  what  day  did  this  happen  ?' 
she  inquired. 


190 


THE  QUEEN'S  WEGKfcACE  t  ORs  THE 


« On  Wednesday,  the  day  before  I 
get  off  on  my  hunting  excursion.  You 
were  asleep  the  nexr  morning,  when  I 
went  nwny,  or  otherwise  I  should  then 
have  told  you  nil  I  have  just  now  snid.' 

'  Oh,  God  !  oh,  God  !  at  what  o'clock 
did  you  see  me  ?' 

'  It  must  have  been  between  two  aad 
three.' 

•  Decidedly,  either  I  am  mad,  or  you 
we.' 

•I  again  say  that  it  is  I  who  am  mad. 
I  must  have  been  mistaken.' 

•  And  yet — ' 

'Do  not  agitate  yourself  so  dreadfully, 
no  one  has  heard  of  it.  For  a  moment 
I  thought  it  was  the  king  who  was  with 
you  ;  but  the  person  spoke  in  German, 
and  the  only  foreign  language  the  king 
knows  is  English.' 

'  A  German !  a  German !  oh  !  I  have  a 
proof,  brother, -on  Wednesday  I  went  to 
bed  at  eleven  o'cfock.' 

The  count  bowed  incredulously,  and 
smiling. 

The  queen  rang, 

Madame  de  Misery  will  tell  you  so,' 
she  said. 

The  <;ount  laughed. 

4  Why  do  you  not  send  fov  Laurent, 
the  door-keeper  at  the  Keservoir,  he 
would  also  give  his  testimony.  It  was 
I  who  founded  that  cannon,  dear  little 
sister,  you  must  not  fire  it  off  at  me.' 

'  Oh !'  exclaimed  the  qvee-n,  much 
enraged.  •  that  I  should  not  be  be- 
lieved !' 

1 1  would  believe  you  •  if  you  would 
be  less  in  a  passion. .  But  how  to  prove 
thfo  to  you  !  I  have  answered  yes,  and 
others,  should  they  come  here,  would 
say  no.' 

'Others!  what*  others  ?' 
^By  heaven,  all  those  who  saw  you 
as  well  MS  I  did.' 

•  That  is  curious,  indeed.  There  were 
people  who  savf   me  ?     Well,  mention 
them  to  me  instantly.' 

4  Is  Philippe  de  Taverney  here  ?'• 
4  My  brother!'  said'Andree 
'  He   was  therer   mademoiselle,'  re- 
plied   the   prince.     '  Do  you   wish  he 
should  be  questioned,  sister?' 
'I  demand  it.  instantly.' 
'  Gracious  Heaven  !'  murmured.  An- 
dree. 

'What  is  the  matter/'  cried  the 
queen. 

'  My  brother  called  to  give  evidence?' 

4  Yes,  yes.     I  insist  ujxjn  it.' 

And  the  queen  called  out,  a  servant 

cnmo  in  nnd  ho  immediately  ran  off  to 

aeek   Philippe   at   his   father's   house* 


which  he  had  just  left  nfte*  the  scene 
we  have  before  described. 

Philippe,  master  of  the  fielrl  of  but- 
tle nfter  his  duel  with  Qhnrny — Phi- 
lippe, who  had  just  rendered  tin  impor- 
tant service  to  the  queen  was  walking 
joyously  towards  the  palace  at  Ver- 
suilles. 

He  was  met  on  the  way.  The. 
queen's  order  was  communicated  to 
him,  nnd  he  hastened  to  obey  it. 

Mnrie  Antoinette  rushed  forward  to 
meet  him  as  he  entered  the  room, 
pkiced  herself  before  him,  and  said  to 
him, 

'Let  u»  see,  sir,  whether  you  can 
speak  the  truth  or  not?'1 

4  Yes,  madam,  and  incapable  of  speak- 
ing falsely,'  he  replied 

'  Then  say— say  candidly,  whether — • 
whether  you  huve  seen -me  in  a  plnce 
of  public  amusement,  during  the  hist 
eight  days.' 

•  Yes^  miidam,'  replied  Philippe. 

Every  heart  in,  the  room  bent  vio- 
lently ;  they  might  have  been  almost 
heard. 

'  Where  did  you  se«  me  ?'  said  the 
queen,  in  an  awfully  severe  voice. 

Philippe  remained  silent. 

'  Oh  !  you  need  not  be  over  cautious, 
sir,  for  my  brother  here  siiys  that  he 
saw  me  at  the  Opera  ball ;  and  you, 
where,  did  you  see  me  ?' 

'  Where  my  lord  the  Count  d'Artois 
saw  you,  at  the  opera  ball,  madam.' 

The  queen  fell  thunderstruck  upon 
the  sofa. 

Then  bounding  up  with  the  rapidity 
of  a  wounded  panther: 

'  That  is  not  possible,'  she  snid, '  since 
I  was  not  there.  Take  care.  Monsieur 
de  Taverney,  I  perceive. that  you  are 
assuming  puritanical  airs  ;  that  was  all 
very  w'ell  in  America,  with  M.Me  La- 
fayette, but  at  Versailles,  we  are  French 
polite  and  simple.' 

'  Y'our  majesty  overwhelms  M.  do 
Taverney,'  cried  Andree,  pule  \viih 
angur  nnd  indignation.  '  It  he  s;i}  rf 
that  he  saw,  it  is  because  he  really 
dnw.' 

1  You  also  !  '  saitl  Marie  Antoinette, 
'you  also!  There  is  really  but  ont> 
thing  wanting  in  all  this,  that  you  should 
also  have  seen  me.  15y  Heaven  !  if  I 
have  friends  that  ilufeud  me,  1  hnve  oue- 
mies  who  iissabsiniite  me.  One,  wit- 
ness only,  is  not  sufficient  evidence, 
gentlemen.' 

'You  remind  me,'  snid  the  Count  d' 
Artois,  'that  at  the  moment  wiieu 
I  saw  you,  aud  when  I  perceived  that 


MYSTERIES  OF  THE  COURT  OF  LOUIS  XVI. 


161 


the  blue    domino  was  not  the  king,  I 
thought   that  it  was    M.   de   Sullren's 


nephew.  Wh;it  is  his  name  ?  I  mean 
that,  .brave  officer  who  performed  t.lie 
exploit  of  the  (Ing.  You  received  him 
so  graciously  the  other  day,  tluit  I  be- 
lieved him  to  be  your  chevalier  of 
honor.' 

The  queen  blushed  ;  And  rue. became 
pale  us  death.  They  both  looked  at 
each  other  shuddering  at  the  chuuge 
produced.  I 

As  to  Philippe,  he  was  perfectly 
livid. 

'Monsieur  do  Charny,'.  murmured 
,be. 

•'  Charuy !  oh  !  yes,  that  is  the  name,' 
.continued  the  Count  d'Artois.  'la  it 
cot  true,  Monsieur  Philippe,  that  the 
shape  of  that  blue  domino  had  some 
wwtlogy  with  that  of  M.  de  C horny  ? ' 

•  I  did    uot   remark   it,   my  lord,'  rep 
plied  Philippe,  almost  choking. 

4  But.'  pursued  tlie  Count  d'Artois, 
*I  soon  perceived  that  I  had  been  mis- 
taken, for  M.  Charny  only  a  few  mo- 
ments afterwards,  suddenly  appeared 
before  me.  He  was  there,  standing 
beside  the  Marshal  de  Richelieu,  and 
opposite  to  you,  sis:or,  ut  the  moment 
your  mask  fell  olf. 

'  And  ho  8;i\v  me  ?  '  cried  the  queen, 
.losing  all  prudence. 

'  Unless  he  be  quite  blind,'  replied 
the  prince. 

The  queen  made  a  despairing  ges- 
ture, and  again  rang  her  bell. 

«  Whut  are  yuu  doing  ?  '  fluid  the 
prince. 

•  I   will   interrogate   M.  de    Charny, 
also,  uud  driuk  the  chalice  to  the  very 
dregs  ' 

'I  do  not  believe  flint  M., de  Charny 
is  at.  Versailles,'  murmured  Philippe. 

'  And  why  so  .' ' 

'  1  was  loJd,  1  believe— that  he  was — 
indisposed- ' 

•  Oh,  the  affair  is  serious  enough  for 
him  to  come  sir.     I  nlau  am  indisposed, 
.nevertheless  I  would  go  barefoot  to  the 
end  of  the  world  to  prove — ' 

Philippe,  heart-broken,  went  towa/tls 
his  sister,  who  was  looking  out  of  one 
of  the  windows,  which  opened  on  the> 
gardens. 

Andive.  suddenly  uttered  a  slight  cry. 

•  What  is  the  matter,,'  said  the  queen, 
advancing  towards  liar. 

i Nothing;  nothing — it  was  said  that 
M.  de  Charny  was  ill,  and  I  see  him.' 

4  You  sot?  him  !'  cried  Philippe,  run- 
Ding  in  his  turn.  '  Yes,  'tis  ho. 

Tiu<  queon,   forgetful  of  every    con- 


sideration of  etiquette,  opened  the  win- 
dow   herself,  with   extraordinary  vigor, 


and  called  out  loudly, 

4  M.  de  Charny!' 

The.  latter  turned  his  head,  and  struck 
with  astonishment,  hastened  toward! 
the  palace. 


CHAPTER  XXXVH. 


M.  DE  CHARNT  entered  the  room, 
looking  rather  pale,  but  erect  and  with- 
out any  apparent  suffering. 

On  seeing  the  illustrious  personage* 
present,  he  assumed  the  respectful  and 
formal  demeanor  of  a  man  of  the  world 
and  a  soldier. 

4  Take  care,  sister,'  said  the  Count 
d'Artois  in  a  whisper'to  the  queen  ;  4  it 
appears  to  me  that  you  are  interroga- 
ting many  persons.' 

4  Brother,  I  will  interrogate  the  whole 
world,  until  I  meet  a  person  who  shall 
tell  me  that  you  were  mistaken.' 

During  this  time  Charny  had  per- 
ceived Philippe,  and  had  courteously 
bowed  to  him. 

4  You  are  the  destroyer  of  your  own 
health,'  said  Philippe  to  his  adversary, 
in  a  whisper,  4  to  venture  out  wounded 
as  you  are ;  one  would  think  you  wished 
to  die.' 

4  People  do  not  die  from  a  mere 
scratch  they  may  have  received  from  a 
bush  in  the  Bois  de  Boulogne,'  replied 
Charny,  happy  to  give  his  enemy  a 
moral  pang  more  painful  than  a  sword 
wound. 

The  queen  approached,  nnd  put  an 
end  to  this  rencounter  of  words,  which 
was  more  a  double  aside  than  a  dia- 
logue. 

4M.  de'  Charny,'  said  she,  4  these 
gentlemen  say  you  were  at  the  opera 
ball?'  ' 

*  Yes-  your  majesty,'  replied  Charny, 
bowing. 

4  Tell  us  what  you  saw  there. 

1  Does  your  majesty  ask  what  I  saw 
there,  or  whom  I  saw  there  ?' 

4  Precisely  !  who  you  saw  there,  and 
no  discreet  reservation,  no  obliging 
withholding  of  names.' 

4  .Must  I  tell  all,  madam  ?' 

The  queen's  cheeks  again  resumed 
that  pallid  hue  which  ten  tiinea  that 
morning  had  chased  away  their  feverish 
flush. 

1  To  commence  according  to  the  hie*- 


182 


THE  QUEEN'S  NECKLACE;  OR,  THE 


archy,  according  to  the  law  of  my  re- 
spect,' replied  Charny.    , 

4'Tia  well.     You  BH\V  nre.' 

•  Yes,  your  mnjesty,  nt  the  very  mo- 
ment tliiit  the  queen's  mask  so  unfortu- 
nately fell  ofl'.' 

Murie  Antoinette  crushed  in  her 
nervous  hands,  the  lace  of  her  splendid 
ruir. 

'Sir,'  snid  she  in  n  voice  in  which  n 
close  observer  would  huve  perceived 
the  sobs  which  were  rernly  to  burst 
forth,  '  look  at  me  well,  ure  you  quite 
•ore?' 

4  Mndnm,  the  features  of  your  mnjes- 
ty "re  too  indelibly  engraved  on  the 
hearts  of  all  your  subjects,  to  nllow  of 
nny  error;  to  have  seen  them  once  is 
to  see  them  always.' 

Philippe  looked  nt  Andree ;  Andre"e 
fixed  her  eyes  on  Philippe.  These 
two  griefs,  these  two  jealousies  formed 
a  painful  alliance. 

4  Sir,'  rejoined  the  queen  going  close 
np  to  Charny,  4 1  assure  you  that  I  was 
not  at  this.  Opera  ball.' 

4  Oh !  madam,'  exclaimed  the  young 
man,  bowing  almost  to  the  ground, 
•has  not  your  majesty  the  right  to  go 
wherever  it  may  please  you  ?  were  it 
even  to  the  infernal  regions;  were  your 
majesty  once  to  place  a  foot  there,  the 
infernal  regions  would  be  purified.' 

4 1  do  not  ask  you  to  excuse  the  step,' 
cried  the  queen,  '  I  only  beg  you  to  be- 
lieve that  I  did  not  take  it.' 

4 1  will  believe  all  that  your  majesty 
may  order  me  to  believe,'  replied  Char- 
ny, the  inmost  recesses  of  whose  heart 
were  moved  by  this  persistance  of  the, 
queen,  by  the  touching  humility  of  so 
proud  a  woman. 

'Sister!  sister!  this  is  too  much.' 
murmured  the  Count  d'Artois  into  Ma- 
rie Antoinette's  ear. 

For  this  scene  hnd  chilled  the  hearts 
of  all  that  were  present  at  it.  Some 
from  the  anguish  of  their  love,  or  from 
their  self-love  being  wounded  ;  the  oth- 
ers from  the  emotion  always  inspired 
by  an  accust-d  woman,  who  defends 
herself  against  evt:n  overwhelming 
proofs. 

4  They  believe  it!  they  believe  it!' 
cried  the  queen,  beside  herself  with 
anger,  and  she  fell  discouraged  into  an 
arm-chair,  endeavoring  to  efface  unsojen 
with  the  tip  of  her  finger,  the  traces  of 
a  tear  which  pride  had  rendered  scald- 
ing to  her  eye-lid.  Suddenly  she  rose. 

4  Sister!    sister!    pray    pardon    me,' 
tenderly  said  the  Count  d'Artois,  'you  i 
are  surrounded  by  devoted  friends  ;  this  ' 


secret,  at  which  you  are  so  unnecessa- 
rily alarmed,  is  known  only  to  us,  and 
from  our  hearts  in  which  it  is  endutwtl, 
no  one  can  drng  it  but  with  our  lives.' 

4  Secresy  !  secresy  !  '  cried  the  queen, 
'I  want  no  secresy.' 

4  My  dear  sister.' 

4  No  secrets — I  want  proofs.' 

4  Madam,'  said  Andree,  4some  one  i* 
coming.' 

4  Madam,'  said  Philippe  slowly,  4  it  is 
the  king.' 

'The  king!'  cried  an  usher  in  the 
jftite-chamber.' 

4  The  king  ;  so  much  the  better  ;  the 
king  is  my  best  friend ;  the  king  would 
not  consider  me  guilty,  even  had  he  bts- 
lieved  he  had  seen  inn  in  the  fault ;  the 
king  is  most  welcome. 

The  king  came  into  the  room  ;  his 
looks  were  a  perfect  conti-ast,  to  the  agi- 
tation and  the  disordered  features  of  ufl 
those  who  surrounded  the  queen. 

'  Sire ! '  cried  the  lafter,  '  you  come 
most  opportunely.  'Sire!  here  is 
another  calumny,  another  insult  to  con- 
fute.' 

4  What  is  the  matter  ? '  said  Louis 
XVI.  advancing. 

4  Sir,  a  rumor,  an  infamous  rumor, 
which  i  will  soon  be  spread  abroad. — 
Come  to  rry  aid,  sire,  this  time,  for  this 
time  it  is  not  my  enemies  who  accuse 
me,  but  my  friends.' 

'  Your  friends  ?  ' 

4  These  gentlemen,  my  brother — par- 
don me,  the  Count  d'Artois,  Monsieur 
de  Taverney,  Monsieur  de  Charny,  as- 
sure me  that,  they  saw  me  ut  the  ball  at 
the  Opera  house.' 

4  At  the  Opera  ball  ?  '  exclaimed  the 
king,  knitting  his  brows.' 

4  Yes,  sire.' 

A  terrible  silence  prevailed  for  some 
moments,  Madame  de  la  Motho  ob- 
served the  gloomy  uneasiness  of  the 
king ;  she  saw  the  mortal  paleness  of 
the  queen ;  with  a  word,  a  single 
word  she  could  at,  once  have  termina- 
ted this  painful  struggle  ;  she  could 
with  one  single  word  have  annihilated 
alkthese  accusations  as  to  the  past,  and 
have  saved  the  queen  from  all  future 
anguish.  But  her  heart  did  not  prompt 
her  to  adopt  this  course,  her  interest 
made  her  deviate  from  it.  She  said  to 
herself,  that  the  time  had  gone  by ; 
that  already  in  the  vat  nffxir  she  had 
spoken  equivocally,  and  that  by  retract- 
ing her  words,  by  allowing  it  to  be  seen 
that  she  had  been  guilty  of  deception 
once,  by  showing  to  the  queen  that  she 
had  allowed  her  to  remain  open  to  th» 


MYSTERIES  OF  THE  COURT  OF  LOUIS  XVI. 


183 


first  accusation,  which  she  might  have 
torn  at  once  to  atoms  by  stating  the 
facts  with  regard  to  Mademoiselle  Oli- 
Ta's  likeness  to  the  queen  ;  she,  Jeanne, 
the  new  favorite,  would  ruin  herself  at 
the  very  onset;  cut  from  beneath  her 
feet  all  prospect  of  her  future  fuvor, 
and  therefore  she  was  mute. 

The  king  then  repeated  in  a  voice 
full  of  anguish,  '  At  the  Opera  ball !  and 
who  speaks  of  this  ?  Does  the  Count 
de  Provence  know  of  it  1 ' 

*  Hut  it  is  not  true  !  '  exclaimed  the 
queen,  with  the  accent  of  despairing 
innocence,  '  i:  is  not  true  ;  the  Count  d' 
Artois  is  mistaken  ;  Monsieur  de  Tu- 
verney  is  mistaken  ;  you  are  mistaken, 
Monsieur  de  Charny.  lu  short  any- 
one may  be  mistaken." 

They  all  bowed. 

'  Come  now,'  said  the  queen,  « call 
here  my  servants,  every  bodj'.  This 
ball  was  on  last  Wednesday,  was  it 
not?  ' 

'  Yes,  sister.' 

4  Well  then  :  let  me  recollect  what  I 
did  on  Wednesday;  let  some  one  tell 
me,  for  really  I  am  going  mad,  and  if 
this  continue,  I  shall  verily  believe  that 
I  did  go  to  this  infamous  ball ;  but  had 
I  gone  there,  gentlemen,  I  should  at 
once  have  acknowledged  it.' 

Suddenly  the  king  approached  with 
diluted  eyes,  a  smiling  face,  and  out- 
stretched hands. 

4  Wednesday,'  said  he,  *  Wednesday 
you  said,  did  you  not  gentlemen  ?  ' 

'  Yes.  sire.' 

4  Well  then!'  continued  he,  becoming 
more  and  more  calm,  more  and  more 
joyous.  '  you  need  only  ask  your  femme 
de  chambre,  and  she  will  clear  up  all. 
She  will  perhaps  remember,  Marie,  at 
what  hour  it  was  I  went  to  your  apart- 
ment. It  was  I  believe,  about  eleven 
o'clock  ul  nisrht.' 

'  Ah !'  exclaimed  the  queen,  trans- 
ported with  joy,  'so  it  was,  sire.' 

And  she  threw  herself  into  the  king's 
arms.  Then,  blushing  and  confused, 
on  perceiving  that  all  eyes  were  fixed 
upon  her,  she  hid  her  face  in  the  king's 
breast,  who  tenderly  kissed  her  beauii- 
ful  forehead. 

'Well!'  cried  the  Count  d'Artois, 
stupilied  with  amazement  and  joy  com- 
bined, '  I  will  buy  myself  a  pair  of  spec- 
tacles. But.  by  heaven!  I  would  not 
have  lost  this  scene  for  a  million.  Am 
I  not  right,  gentlemen  ? 

Philippe  was  standing  with  his  back 
to  the  wainscoting,  pale  as  death.  Char- 
ity, cold  and  impossible  was  wiping 


away  the  perspiration  streaming  from 
his  forehead. 

4  Therefore,  this  is  the  reason,  gen- 
tlemen,' said  the  king,  laying  much 
stress  upon  the  words,  and  delighted  at 
the  effect  he  had  produced,  '  this  is  the 
reason  why  it  was  impossible  that  the 
queen  could  lhat  night  have  been  at  the 
opera  ball.  Believe  it  as  you  please, 
but  the  queen  I  am  sure  is  satisfied  at 
being  believed  by  me.' 

4  Well,'  said  the  Count  d'Artois,  4  M. 
de  Provence  may  thiirk  as  he  pleases 
upon  the  subject,  but  I  defy  his  wife  to 
prove  an  alibi  in  the  same  way,  \vHen- 
ever  she  may  be  accused  of  having 
spent  the  night  abroad.' 

'  Oh  !  brother,'  cried  the  king. 

4  Sire,  I  kiss  your  hand.' 

1  Charles,  I  will  go  with  you,'  enid 
the  king,  after  giving  a  last  kiss  to  the 
queen. 

Philippe  had  not  stirred, 

'  Monsieur  de  Taverney,'  said  the 
queen,  in  a  severe  tone,  '  do  you  not 
accompany  the  Count  d'Artois  ?' 

Philippe  suddenly  drew  himself  up; 
the  blood  flowed  to  his  temples  and  his 
eyes.  He  almost  fainted.  He  had 
hardly  strength  enough  to  bow  to  look 
at  Andree,  to  give  a  glance  of  threaten- 
ing import  at  de  Cliarny,  and  to  restrain 
the  expression  of  his  insensate  grief. 

He  left  the  room, 

The  queen  retained  AndV6e  and  Mon- 
sieur de  Charny. 

The  position  of  Andr6e  thus  placed 
between  her  brother  and  the  queen, 
between  her  love  and  her  jealousy,  we 
could  not  even  have  sketched  without 
retarding  the  progress  of  the  dramatic 
scene,  to  which  the  king's  entrance 
gave  so'happy  a  winding  up 

And  yet  there  wns  nothing  which  so 
much  des'erved  our  attention  as  thp  suf- 
ferings of  the  young  girl :  she  felt  that 
Philippe  would  have  sacrificed  his  life, 
could  he  by  that  have  prevented  the 
tete-u-tete  between  the  queen  and 
Charny,  and  she  acknowledged  that 
she  would  have  felt  heart-broken  had 
she  followed  Philippe  to  console  him,  as 
she  ought  to  have  done,\  and  thus  have 
left  the  queen  and  Charny  at  liberty 
with  Madame  la  Mothe  ;  that  is  to  say, 
more  at  liberty  than  had  they  been 
alone.  She  divined  this  by  the  modest 
and  at  the  same  time  familiar  air  of 
Jeanne. 

How  could  she  explain  even  to  her- 
self what  she  then  felt  I 

4  Was  it  love  ?  Oh  !  love,  she  would 
have  sitid  to  heraelf,  doen  not  germi- 


184 


THE  QUEEN'S  NECKLACE;  OR,  THE 


mite,  does  not  srow  with  such  rapidity 
in  the  cold  atmosphere  of  a  court. 
Love,  tlrnt  rare  plant,  delights  toflowei 
in  generous,  pure  arid  untouched  henrts. 
It,  would  not  strike  deep  root  in  a  heart 
profaned  by  recollections,  in  n  soil  chill- 
ed by  tears  concentrated  during  l 
years.  No  ;  it  was  not  love  that  Made- 
moiselle de  Taverney  felt  towards  Char- 
ny.  She  repelled  the  idea  with  all  her 
strength,  because  she  had  sworn  to 
herself  never  to  love  any  thing  io  this 
world. 

'But  why  then  had  she  so  much  suf- 
fered, when  Charny  addressed  a  few 
words  of  respect  and  devotedness  to  the 
queen  ?  That,  certes,  could  not  l>0 
jealousy.' 

'  Yes,  Andree  acknowledged  to  her- 
self that  she  was  jealous  :  not  of  the  love 
which  a  man  could  feel  towards  another 
woman,  but  jealous  of  the  woman  who 
could  inspire,  accept,  or  authorize  that 
love. 

She  looked  with  mournful  eyes  on  all 
the  handsome  lovers  of  the  new  court, 
who  flitted  around  her.  These  yonng 
and  valiant  gaHants,  replete  with  ardor, 
who  could  not  comprehend  her  charac- 
ter, and  who  kept"  aloof  after  having 
paid  some  slight  homage  to  her — some 
Iwcause  her  coldness  was  not  that  of 
philosophy,  the  others  because  that  cold- 
ness was  a  strange  contrast  to  the  levi- 
ties amid  which  Andree  must  have  been 
brought  up. 

And  besides,  men,  whether  merely 
in  search  of  pleasure  or  dreaming  of 
love,  mistrust  the  coldness  of  a  woman 
twenty-five  years  old,  who  is  handsome, 
rich,  the  favorite  of  a  queen,  and  who 
passes  alone,  frigid,  silent  and  pale, 
along  a  pa^h,  where  it  is  usually  su- 
preme joy  and  supreme  happiness,  to 
make  the  greatest  possible  noise. 

The  being  a  living  problem  is  not  an 
attraction,  and  this  Andree  had  per- 
ceived ;  she  had  observed  that  eyes, 
little  by  little,  were  averted  from  her 
beauty ;  minds  that  mistrusted  her 
mind,  or  denied  she  had  any.  She  saw 
even  more  :  this  abandonment  became  a1 
habit  with  the  old  courtiers,  an  instinct! 
with  the  new  ones  ;  it  was  no  more  a  •• 
custom  to  approach  Mademoiselle  de 
Taverney  and  to  speak  to  her,  than  it 
was  to  approach  the  statues  of  Latona 
and  Dianii  at  Versailles,  surrounded  by 
their  girdles  of  blackened  water.  Who- 
ever hud  bowed  to  Mademoiselle  de 
Taverney.  music  hi*  piroutteaud  smiled 
at  another  woman,  considered  that  he 
hnd  fulfilled  his  duty. 


All  these  shades  of  feeling  hud  uot 
escaped  the  penetrating  eyeof  the  yonng 
girl.  She,  whose  heart  had1  experienc- 
ed every  grief  without  knowing  a  single 
pleasure  ;  she,  who  felt  a:ge  advancing 
upon  her  with  its  retinue  of  pale  caret 
and  gloomy  recollections;  MHO  whisper* 
ingly  invoked  him  who  punishes inriare 
than  him  who  pardons ;  tuid  in  her  pain- 
ful, sleepless  nights,  passing  in  review 
the  delights  offered  to.the  happy  lovon 
in  Versailles,  she  sighed  with  mortal 
bitterness, 

'.And  I !  my  God  !—- and  I !' 
When  she  met  Charuy,  the  nighfauf 
the.  severe i frost,  when  she  saw  the  eye* 
of  the  young;  man  fixed  curiously  upon 
her,  and  gradually  envelope  her  with 
sympathetic  feeling,  she  no  longer  re 
cognized  the  strange  reserve  which  tall 
the>  courtiers  ewinced  towards  her.  '  'In 
the  eyes  of  that  man  she  w«s  a  woman. 
He  had  re-awakened  youth  in  her,  and 
had  galvanized  the  dead  ;  he  had  made 
blush  the  marble  of  which  Diana .  and 
Latona  were  composed. 

Therefore  Mademoiselle  de  Taverney 
immediately  attached  herself  to  this  re- 
generator, who  had  thus  restored  her  to 
vitality, — therefore  did  she  feel  happy 
when  gazing  on  this  young  man,  to 
whom  she  was  not  a  mere  problem, — 
therefore  was  she  unhappy  when „•  she 
thought  that  another  woman  was  about 
to  clip  the  wings  of  her  cerulean  fancy, 
confiscate  her  dream,  which  had  but 
just  issued  from  its  golden  portals. 

We  shall  be  pardoned  for  having  thus 
exphiined  how  it.  was  that  Andree  had 
not  followed  Philippe  when  he  left  tbe 
queen's  cabinet;  although  she  deeply 
felt  the  outrage  offered  to  her  brother; 
although  this  brother  was  the  object  of 
tier  idolatry,  her  religion,,  almost  of  her 
love. 

Mademoiselle  de  Taverney,  who 
would  not  leave  the  queen  in  tete-a.-tttta 
with  Charny,  did  not  take  any  further 
part  in  the  conversation,  after  the  du- 
misaal  of  her  brother. 

She  seated  hursalf  beside  the  tire- 
place,  her  back  almost  turned  to  the 
group  formed  by  the  queen,  sitting 
down  ;  Charny  standing,  but  b  -tiding 
forward ;  Madame  de  la  Mothe  stand- 
ing upright  in  the  recess  of  a  window, 
in  which  her  false  timidity  had  sought  a 
refuge,  but  her  real  curiosity  a  favorable 
place  for  observation. 

The  queen  remained  silent  for  some 
moments,  she  know  not.  how  to  connect 
this  new  cmiversalion  with  the  delieuta 
explanation  that  hiuijuH*  token,  place. 


MYSTERIES  OF  THE  'COURT  OF  LOUIS  XVI. 


185 


Crmrny  nppenrod  suffering,  nnd  1m 
attitude  was  nut  diwigreeuntde  to  the 
queen. 

At.  length,  Marie  Antoinette  broke 
this  silence,  and  responding  at  once  to 
her  own  thoughts,  and  that  of  the  others, 

•  All    this  proves,'  said  she  suddonly, 

4  that  we  arts  not   wanting   in   enemies.  I 
.Can  it  be  believed,  sir,  that  such  miser- 
able events  have  happened  at  the  cm  it 
o£  France  ?     Would  any  oue  beli«»6;it?' 
Charny  did  not  reply. 

•  What   happiness  must  it  be,'  con- 
tinued thequeen,  *  to  live  on  board  your 
ships,    with   nought  but  the  clear  sky 
above,  the  open  sea   beneath  !     To  us, 
citizens,  they  speak  ..of  flie-itteaehery  of 
the  waves.    Ah  !•  sir*  sir*  consider  your 
own    case.     Have    not   the     waves    of 
ocean,  the  most  furious   waves,  thrown 
upon  you  their  fotiming  anger  ?     Have 
not    their    attacks  laid    you    prostrate 
on    the   deck,  and    frequently  ?     Well, 
you  are  in  good  health,  you  are  young, 
you  are  honored,' 

*•  Madam !' 

•  Have    not  the   English,'   continued 
the  queen,   becoming  animated  by  de- 
grees,   'launched   their    liery  .linger  at 
you,  their  gmpe  shot  and  cannon  balls, 
anger  full  of  danger  to  human  life,  is  it 
not  ?     But.  what  tines- that  concern  you? 
You  are  safe,  you  are.  strong  ;  and  on 
account  of  this  very  ringer  of  your  ene 
tniea  whom  you   have  vanquished,   the 
king   has  congratulated,   caressed  you, 
and   the  people   know  your   name  and 
love  it.'  • 

'  Well,  madam  ?'  murmured  Char- 
ny, who  saw  with  dread  the  increasing 
animation  of  the  queen. 

'  You  wish  to  know  the  point  I  am 
aiming  »»,'  she  said,  '  this  is  it:  Blessed 
be  the  enemies  who  launch  against  us 
their  fire,  their  ireu,  their  foaming 
waves;  blessed  be  the  enemies  who 
only  threaten  us  witbdetith.' 

'  Good  Heaven  !  mud  tun,'  replied 
Churny.  'your  majesty  ha-  no  enemies 
— the  only  ones  the  eagle  has  an-  >T- 
peats — all  that  crawl  upon  the  earth 
cannot  harm  those  who  auar  amid  .he 
clouds.' 

'Sir,'  rejoined  the  queen  instantly, 
you  have,  I  know,  returned  unhui t,from 
the  battle,  you  have  escaped  unscathed 
the  horrors  of  the  tempest:  from  all 
these  dangers  you  have  been  preserved 
triumphant  and  hHuved,  while  those  of 
whom  the  enemy,  such  as  we  are  at- 
tacked by,  soils  .he  i'.iir  renown  with 
the  black  slime  of  calumny,  those,  I 
8uy»  stuud  uot  in  peril  of  their  lives,  'lid 


true,  bnt  they  grow  older  after  e«ch 
succeeding  tempest  ;  they  accustom 
themselves  to  bow  down  their  heads, 
in  the  fear  of  meeting,  ns  I  have  done 
to-day,  the  two-fold  injury  of  friends 
and  enemies  combined  in  one  attack; 
and  besides,  sir,  did  you  but  know  how 
painful  it  is  to  be  detested.' 

Andreo  waited  with  much  anxiety 
for  the  young  man's  answer  ;  she  trem- 
bled kfst  he  should  reply  in  those  terms 
of  tender  consolation  which  the  quean 
ajjpejired  toj solicit.. 

But  Guarny,  on  the  contrary,  wiped 
his  forehead  with  his  handkerchief, 
sought,  for  support  by  putting  his  hands 
on  the; back  of  a  chair,  aud  became  very 
pale. 

The  queen,  on  perceiving  this,  ex- 
cluimed — 

'  Is.it  not  too  warm i here?' 

Madame  de  la  Mothe,  with  her  deli- 
cate small  hand,  unclasped  the  strong 
fastening  of  the  large  French  window 
(is  vigorously  u*  if.  she  had  possessed 
the  wrist  of  it  mnn.  Clmrny  inhaled 
the  fresh  air  with  delight. 

'This  gentleman  is  accustomed  to  the 
free  Jjreey.e  of  the  ocean,  he  would  suf- 
focate in  the  boudoirs  of  Versailles.' 

'  It  is  not  on  that  account,  madam,' 
replied  Charny,  '  but  I  am  ordered  on  a 
special  service,  and  unless  her  majesty 
commands  me  to  renuiin' — 

•  By  no  means,  sir,'  said  the  queen, 
4  we  know  what  a  special  order  is,  do 
we  uot,  A  n dree  ?' 

Then  turning  towards  Charny,  and 
with  a  slight  tone  of  vexation, 

4  You  are  free,  sir,'  she  said. 

And  she  dismissed  the  young  officer 
with  a  wave  of  her  hand. 

Charny  bow-ed  with  the  nir  of  a  man 
in  haste,  and  disappeared  behind  the  ta- 
pestry. 

In  n  few  seconds  a  noise  was  heard 
in  the  ante-chamber,  as  of  some  ono 
groaning,  and  of  several  persons  hurry- 
ing towards  the  same  spot. 

The  queen  was  stauding  near  the 
daotv either  accidentally,  or  from  wish- 
ing to  observe  Charny,  whose  precipi- 
tate retreat  had  appeared  extraordinary 
to  her. 

She  raised  the  tapestry,  uttered'  a 
faint  cryT  and  was  about  to  rush  forward. 

But  Andreo,  who  had  kept  her  eyes 
fixed  upon  her,  imniedia'ely  placed  her- 
self between  the  queen  and  the  door. 

'Oil,  mada'iie  !  she  exclaimed. 

The.queen  gazed  intently  at  Andree, 
who  firmly  sustained  the  look.  Madiuua 
do  lu- AiotueatttJtclied  her  head,  for  wurd. 


- 


186 


THE  QUEEN'S  NECKLACE ;    OR,  THE 


Between  the  queon  and  Andree  there 
wits  a  small  space,  and  through  this 
space  she  could  see  Charny  lying  in  a 
swoon,  and  several  servants  and  guards 
rendering  him  assistance. 

The  queen,  observing  the  movement 
of  Mndaine  de  la  Mothe.  quickly  closed 
the  door. 

But  it  was  too  late,  Jeanne  had 
seen  nil. 

Marie  Antoinette,  with  frowning 
brow  and  thoughtful  steps,  wiilked  slow- 
ly to  her  arm-chtiir,  in  which  she  again 
sat  down  ;  she  was  a  prey  to  that  gloomy 
pre-occuptition  which  succeeds  all  vio- 
lent emotions.  She  seemed  as  not  to 
be  aware  of  the  pros'ence  of  any  liv- 
ing being. 

Andree,  for  her  part,  although  she 
remained  standing  and  leaning  against 
the  wall,  did  not  appear  less  absent 
than  the  queen. 

There  ensued  a  silence  of  some  mo- 
ments. 

'  There  is  something  most  strange  in 
this,'  cried  the  queen  suddenly,  and  in 
BO  loud  a  tone  that  it  made  both  her 
companions  start,  so  unexpected  was  it 
to  them  ;  '  it  would  really  seem  thai  M. 
de  Charny  still  doubts' — 

'  What  can  he  doubt,  madam  ?'  in- 
quired Andree. 

'  Why,  of  my  presence  in  the  palace 
during  the  night  of  the  ball.' 

'  Oh,  madam ' 

1  Is  it  not  so,  countess  ?  do  you  not 
think  I  ..m  right  in  saying  that  M.  de 
Charny  still  doubts  ?' 

'  Notwithstanding  the  king's  word  ? 
Oh,  madam,  that  is  impossible  !'  cried 
Andree. 

'  They  may  think  that  the  king  came 
to  my  assistance  from  mere  self-love. 
Oh  !  he  does  not  believe  it ! — no,  he 
does  not  believe  it !  that  is  easily  per- 
ceived.' 

Audree  bit  her  lips. 

•  My  brother  is  not  so  incredulous  as 
M.  de  Charny,'  said  she  ;  '  he  appear- 
ed quite  convinced.' 

'Oh!  that  would  be  bad  indeed!' 
continued  the  queen,  who  had  not  list- 
ened to  Andrew's  reply  ;  '  and  in  that 
case  this  young  man's  heart  is  not  so 
pure  and  upright  as  I  thought.' 

Then  angrily  striking  her  hands  to- 
gether : 

'  But  after  all,'  she  exclaimed,  •  if  he 
really  thinks  he  saw  me,  why  should 
he  believe  .'  M.  d*  Artoia  saw  me,  M. 
Philippe  also  saw  me — so  he  says,  at 
leuBt;  every  body  saw  me,  and  it  requir- 
ed the  king's  word  to  make  tbeui  be- 


|  lieve,  or  rather  I  should  say,  appear  to 
believe.  Oh,  there  is  something  be- 
neath all  this,  something  which  I  must 
cloar  up,  since  no  one  else  appears  to 
think  of  doing  so.  Do  you  not  think, 
Andree,  that  I  ought  to'eudeavor  to  dia- 
cover  the  meaning  of  all  this  ?' 

'  Your  majesty  is  right?'  replied  An- 
dree, 'and  I  am  sure  that  I  he  countess 
de  la  Mothe  is  of  opinion  with  me,  Hint 
you  should  make  every  inquiry  until 
you  have  discovered  it.  Is  i  not  so, 
madam  ?' 

Madame  de  la  Mothe,  thus  taken  by 
surprise,  shuddered,  but  did  not  reply. 

'  For,  in  short,'  added  the  queen, 
'  they  say  that  I  was  seen  at  Mesmer's.' 

'  And  your  majesty  was  there,'  quick- 
ly observed  Madame  de  la  Mothe,  with 
a  smile. 

• Be  it  so,'  replied  the  queen ;  •  but  I 
did  not  do  what  the  pamphlet  charges 
me  with  having  done.  And,  besides,  I 
was  seen  at  the  opera,  and  there  I  cer- 
tainly was  not.' 

She  reflected  for  a  moment,  and  then 
suddenly  and  eagerly  cried  : 

'  Oh)  I  shall  come  at  the  truth  now.' 

'The  truth!'  stammered  the  countess, 

'  Oh  !  so  much  the  better,'  said  An- 
dree. 

'  Let  M.  de  Crosne  be  immediately 
sent  for,'  joyously  said  the  queen  to 
Madame  de  Misery,  who  had  come  into 
the  room. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

M.   DE  CROSNE. 

M.  DE  CROSNE,  who  was  a  very  po- 
lite man,  had  found  himself  completely 
puzzled,  since  the  explanation  which 
had  taken  place  between  the  king  and 
queen. 

The  possessing  all  the  secrets  of  a 
lady,  and  particularly  when  that,  lady  ia 
the  queen,  is  a  position  of  no  slight  dif- 
ficulty ;  above  all  when  the  party  has  to 
watch  over  the  interests  of  a  crown,  and 
to  be  careful  of  its  fair  fame. 

M.  de  Croene  felt  that  he  \va*  about 
to  endure  the  whole  weight  of  woman's 
anger  and  the  indignation  of  a  queen  ; 
but  he  had  courageously  entrenched 
himself  behind  his  absolute  duly,  and 
his  well-known  urbanity  would  serve 
him  as  a  shield  to  ward  off  the  first 
blow.  He  quietly  entered  the  queeu'n 
cab'net,  a  smile  upon  his  lips. 

As  to  the  queeti,  she  did  not  smile. 

4  Come,  M.   do  Crosne,'  suid  elie   to 


MYSTERIES  OF  THE  COURT  OF  LOUIS  XVI. 


137 


him,  'it  is  now  our  turn  to  have  an  ex- 
planation.' 

•  1  am  nt  your  majesty's  commands.' 

4  As  Lieutenant  of  Police,  you  ought 
to  know-  the  cause  of  all  that  has  hap- 
pened to  me  ?' 

M.  do  Crosne  looked  around  him 
with  a  somewhat  affrighted  air. 

1  Do  not  make  yourself  uneasy,'  pur- 
sued the  queen,  '  you  are  well  acquaint- 
ed with  l)')th  these  ladies;  you  know 
every  body.' 

•  Very  nearly  so,'  replied  the  magis- 
trate, '  I  know  persons,  I  can  see  effects, 
but  1  know  not  the  cause  of  which  your 
majesty  lias  spoken.' 

'  I  must,  therefore,  have  the  displea- 
sure of  informing  you  of  it,'  observed 
the  queen,  annoyed  at  the  serenity  of 
the  Lieutenant  of  Police.  'It  is  very 
evident  that  I  could  impart  my  secret 
to  you,  as  these  secrets  are  generally 
imparted,  in  a  whisper  and  in  a  corner; 
but  1  have  adopted  the  maxim  of  doing 
things  in  broad  daylight  and  aloud. 
Well  I  attribute  these  effects,  as  you 
please  to  term  them,  the  effects  of 
which  I  complain,  to  the  bad  conduct 
of  a  person  who  resembles  me,  and 
Avho  makes  an  exhibition  of  herself  at 
those  places  where  you,  sir,  or  your 
agents,  have  thought  you  had  seen  me.' 

4  A  resemblance  !'  cried  M.  de'Crosne, 
too  much  occupied  in  scrutinising  the 
attack  made  upon  him  by  the  queen,  to 
remark  the  temporary  confusion  of 
Jeanne,  and  an  exclamation  from  An- 
dree. 

'  Do  you  deem  this  supposition  an 
impossibility,  M.  de  Crosne  ?  Would 
you  rather  believe  that  I  am  deceiving 
myself  or  deceiving  you  T 

•Madam,  I  say  not  that;  but  what- 
ever may  be  the  resemblance  between 
any  woman  and  your  majesty,  there 
must  still  be  such  a  difference  that  no 
experienced  observer  could  be  deceiv- 
ed by  it.' 

'  They  can  be  deceived,  sir,  because 
t'ley  have  been  so.' 

'  And  I  will  furnish  an  instance  to 
your  majesty,'  said  Andree. 

•Ah!' 

•  When  we    lived  at  Taverney,  Mai- 
eon- Rouge,   with  my  father,   we  had  a 
servant  girl,  who,  by  a  struuge  freak   of 
nature — ' 

'  Resembled  me  ?' 

•  Oh  !  your  majgsty,  so   much  as  to 
deceive  any  one — ' 

'  And  this  girl,  what  has  since  become 
of  her  ?' 

•  We  knew  not  then  that  your  majes- 


ty possessed  a  mind  so  generous,  eleva- 
ted and  superior.  My  father  feared 
that  this  resemblance  might  be  displeas- 
ing to  the  queen,  and  when  we  were  at 
Treanon,  we  concealed  this  girl  from 
the  eyes  of  the  whole  court.' 

'  You  see  now,  M.  de  Crosne  !  Ah  ! 
ah  !  this  seems  to  intere:  t  you.' 

'  Very  much,  madam.' 

'Go  on,  my  dear  Andree.* 

'  Well,  madam,  this  girl,  who  was  of 
a  volatile,  ambitious  disposition,  grew 
weary  of  being  so  closely  pent  up.  She 
doubtless  made  some  bad  acquaintance, 
and  one  evening  when  I  was-about-  to 
retire  for  the  night,  I  was  surprised  to 
find  she  was  not  in  attendance.  She 
was  sought  for  everywhere,  but  no 
trace  of  her  could  be  found  ;  she  hud 
disappeared. 

•  My  resemblance,   most  likely,  stole 
something  from  you  ?' 

*  No,  madam,  for  I  possessed  nothing 
worthy  of  being  stolen  ' 

Jeanne  had  listened  to  this  colloquy 
with  an  attention  which  will  be  easily 
understood. 

lThus,  you  did  not  know  all  this,' 
said  the  queen  inquiringly  to  M.  de 
Crosne. 

'No,  madam.' 

•^Therefore,  there  does  exist  a  wo- 
man who  bears  a  striking  resemblance 
to  me,  and  you  do  not  know  it  !  There- 
fore, an  event  of  this  importance  is  pro- 
pagated throughout  the  kingdom,  caus- 
ing great  scandal,  and  you  are  not  the 
first  to  be  informed  of  such  an  event. 
Come  now,  sir,  acknowledge  that  the 
police  is  very  ill  administered.' 

1  Bui,'  replied  the  magistrate.  '  I  can 
assure  you  that  it  is  not,  madam.  It  is 
well  for  the  vulgar  to  conceive  that  the 
functions  of  a  Lieutenant  of  Police  are 
equal  to  the  functions  of  God  himself. 
But  your  majesty,  who  sits  far  above 
me  in  this  terrestrial  Olympus,  well 
knows  that  the  king's  magistrates  are 
merely  men  ;  I  do  not  command  events  ; 
and  there  are  many  extraordinary  ones 
which  human  intelligence  can  scarcely 
comprehend.' 

'  Sir,  when  a  man  has  been  endowed 
with  every  possible  power  to  inquire 
into  even  the  thoughts  of  his  fellow- 
men  ;  when  by  his  agents  he  pays  spies, 
when  by  his  spies  he  notes  down  even 
the  glances  I  give  at  my  looking-glass, 
if  such  a  man  cannot  command  events'— 

'  Madam,  when  your  majesty  re- 
mained a  night  absent  from  the  palace 
I  knew  of  it.  Is  my  police  well  man- 
aged T  Yen,  you  must  allow  it ;  that 


188 


THE  QUEEN'S  NECKLACE ;  OR,  THE 


day  your  majesty  went  to  the  house  of  j 
this  lady,  Rue  Suint-Claude,  in  theMa- 
ruis.  That  was  DO  affair  of  mine. 
When  you  appeared  at  Mesmer'a  Vat 
with  Madame  de  Lamballe,  you  really 
did  go  there,  I  believe?  Therefore,  my 
police  was  well  conducted,  because  my 
agents  saw  you  there.  Wlien.  you  went 
to  the  opera — ' 

The  queen  proudly  raised  her  head. 
'Allow  me  to  continue,  madam ;  I  say 
you,  as  the  Count  d'  Ai'tois  said,:  YOU  ! 
Jf  the  brother-in-law  can  be  mistaken  as 
to  his  sister  s  features,  how  much  more 
likely  is  it  for  «  poor  agent  to  be  mis- 
token,  who  receives  but  half-a-crown  a 
day.  The  agent  said  he  thought  he  had 
.Been  you.  My  police  was  therefore 
well  admiai.st.pred  on  that  day.  Do  you 
also  say,  madam,  that  my  agents  did  uot 
well  follow  up  the  aftair  of  the  gazet- 
teer Reteau,  who  was  so  soundly  caned 
by  M.  de  Charny?' 

4  B"  M.  de  Charny  !'  cried  the  queen 
and  Andree,  simultaneously. 

'  The  event  is  not,  of  an  old  date,  ma- 
dam, and  the  wales  inflicted  by  the  cane 
•  are  still  visible  on  the  gazetteer's  shoul- 
ders. Tliis  event  is  one  of  .those  ludi- 
crous circumstances  of  which  my  pre- 
decessor, M.  de  Sartines,  would  have 
made  a  triumph,  when  he  related  them 
with  so  much  wit  to  the  late  king  or  to 
the  favorite.' 

'Did  M.  Charny  demenn  himself  by 
coming  in  contact  with  such  a  wretch?' 

4 1  only  know  it  through  my  so  much 
calumniated  police,  madam  ;  aud  you 
must  acknowledge  that  it  required  some 
intelligence  in  I  hat  police  to  discover  the 
duel  which  followed  this  affair.' 

'  A  duel,  in  w.hich  M.  de  Charny  was 
concerned!  M.  de  Chnrny  has  fought 
a  duel !'  exclaimed  the  queen. 

'  With  that  gazetteer  ?'  ardently  in- 
quired Andree. 

'  Oh !  no,  madam,  The  gazetteer 
who  was  so  well  beaten  would  not  have 
given  M.  de  Charny  the  >word-wound 
which  caused  him  to  faint  in  your  ante- 
chamber.' 

•  Wounded  !   he  is   wounded  !'    cried 
the  queen  ;   'wounded  ! — but  when  did 
this  happen  .'  how  ?  you  must  be  mis- 
taken, M.  de  Crosnc.' 

'  Oh  !  madam,  your  majesty  finds  me 
often  enough  at  fault,  to  allow  that  fur 
this  once  I  am  right.' 

•  Why  he  was  here  but  now.' 
4 1  know  that  well." 

•Oh!    but,'   said  Audree,  •!    clearly 

caw  that  he  was  suffering  great  pain.' 

Aud  these  words  she  pronounced. in 


such  a  way,  that  the  queen  discovered 
their  hostility,  and  turned  quickly  round. 
The  look  of  tho  queen  was  a  retort 
which  Andree  energeically  sustained. 

'  What  say  you  ?'  cried  Marie  An- 
toinette ;  'you  remarked  that  M.  do 
Charny  was  sufficing,  and  you  did  not 
tell  me  of  it  ?' 

Andree  did  not  reply;  Jeanne  advanc- 
ed to  the  assistance  of  the  favorite*  of 
whom  it  was  necessary  to  make-  a  tVinnd. 

'  And  I  also  thought  that  M.  do  Char- 
ny supported  himself  with  difficulty, 
during  the  whole  time  her  majesty,  did 
him  the  honor  to  speak  to  him.' 

'  With  difficulty,  yes  !'  said  the  proud 
Audree,  who  did  not.  .even  tkunk  the 
countess  with  a  look. 

M.  de  Crosne,  he  .who  had  been  so 
closely  questioned,  wus  enjoying  ; the 
observations  he  was  leisurely  '.ranking 
on  these  three  women,  neither  of, whom, 
Jeanne  excepted,  imagined  they  were 
being  scrutinized  by  the,  lieutenant  of 
police. 

At  length  the  queen  resumed  her  in- 
quiritt*. 

•  Sir,  with  whom,  and  for  what  irea- 
son  did  M.  de  Chnrny  fight?' 

During  this  time  Andree  had  regain- 
ed her  self-possession. 

•  With   a  gentleman  who — but  good 
heavens,  madam,  it  is  now  useless — tho 
two  adversaries  are  good  friends  again 
at  thi.s    Moment,  since  but  a  short,  liitio 
ago  they  were  conversing  together  be- 
fore your  majesty.' 

1  Before  me  !  here  ?' 

4  Yes,  in  this  very  room,  from  which 
the  conqueror  was  the  first  to  Ls.sue, 
some  twenty  minutes  since.' 

•  M.    do    Taverney!'    exclaimed   the 
queen,  a  flash  of  auger   darting  from 
her  eyes. 

'My  brother !'  murmured  Andree, 
who  reproached  herself  with  being  so 
egotistical  as  uot  to  have  understood  it 
all  nt  once. 

'  I  believe  that,  in  fact,  it  was  with 
M.  Philippe  de  Taverney  that  M.  do 
Charny  fought.' 

The  que.en  struck  her  hands  violently 
against  each  other,  which  was  always 
with  her  the  indication  of  her  most 
violent  rage. 

'  This  is  indecorous,'  she  said, '  what.1 
are  we  to  have  American  manners  in- 
troduced at  Versailles — Oh  !  no,  I  will 
never  accustom  myaelf  to  them.' 

Andree  held  down  her  head,  and  M. 
de  Crosne  also. 

'  Therefore,  because  a  man  has  asso- 
ciated with  M.  Laiiiyettt'  uud  Monsieur 


MYSTERIES  OF  THE  COURT  OF  LOUIS  XVI. 


189 


Washington,'  the  queen  affected  to  pro- 
nounre  the  last  name  in  the  French 
way,  '  my  court  is  to  he  metamorphased 
into  a  battle-list; of  the  sixteenth  cen- 
tury. No,  once  more,  no;  Andree  you 
must  have  known  that  your  brother  had 
fought  ?' 

•1  only  learn  it  now,  madam,'  replied 
Andree. 

'And  why  did  he  fight?' 

•We  might  have  asked  that  of  M.  de 
Chnrny,  who  fought  with  him,'  replied 
Andree,  pale,  but  with  flushing  eyes. 

'I  do  not  ask,'  arrogantly  rejoined  the 
queen,  '  what  M.  de  Charily  did.  but 
what  M.  Philippe  de  Taverney  has 
done  ?' 

•If  my  brother  has  fought,'  said  the 
young  girl,  letting  her  words  fall  one  by 
one,  •  '  it  cannot  have  been  against  the 
interests  of  your  miijesty.' 

•  Do  you  mean  to  imply,  mademois- 
elle, that  M.  de  Charny  fought  not  for 
my  interest.' 

•  I  have  the  honor  to  observe  to  your 
majesty,'  replied  Andree,  in  the   same 
tone,  'that  I  spoke  to  the  queen  of  my 
brother,  and  not  of  any  oilier  person.' 

Marie  Antoinette  appeared  culm,  but 
in  order  to  accomplish  this,  she  was 
compelled  to  exert  all  the  self-control 
of  which  she  was  capable. 

She  rose  from  her  chair,  took  a  turn 
round  the  room,  pretended  to  look  at 
herself  in  the  glass,. took^  a  volume  from 
a  book-stand,  read  seven  or  eight  lines, 
and  threw  it  aside. 

•  I  thank  you,  M.  de  Crosne,'  said  she 
to  the  magistrate,  'you  have  convinced 
me*     My  head  was  rather  confused  by 
nil  these  reports,  alt  these  suppositions. 
Yes,  the  police  is  very  well  adminis- 
tered, sir,  hut  I  beg  of  you  not  to  for- 
get the  resemblance   of  which  I  have 
ftpoken  to  you.     You  will  not  do  so  ? 
Adieu  !' 

She  held  out  her  hand  to  him  with 
nexpresjiible  grace,  and  ho  left  the 
room  twice  as  happy  as  when  he  en- 
tered it.  Andreo  felt  the  meaning  of 
the  word  adieu  !  She  made  a  long  and 
tolemn  courtesy. 

*Tiio  queon  bade  her  adieu  in  a  negli- 
gent manner,  but  without  any  apparent 
ill  feeling. 

Jeanne  bent  down  as  if  before  a  sa- 
ered  altar ;  she  was  preparing  to  take 
li-avn.  Miidamo  de  Misery  came  iuto 
thu  room. 

•  .Madam,'    said    she    to   the   queen, 
«d'ul  not  your  majesty  appoint  Messrs. 
l?o«hmer  and  Bossuiige  to   wuit  upon 
you  ut  this  hour  j' 


'Ahi  tnat  is  true,  my  good  Misery, 
that  is  true.  Let  them  come  in.  Re- 
main a  little  longer,  Madame  de  la 
Mothe,  I  must  get,  the  king  to  make 
peace  more  thoroughly  with  you.' 

The  queen  while  saying  these  words 
was  watching  in  a  looking-glass  the  ex- 
pression of  Andree's  features,  who  was 
slowly  retiring  towards  the  door. 

She  wished  to  pique  her  jealousy  by 
thus  favoring  the  new-comer. 

Andree  disappeared  beneath  the  folds 
of  the  tapestry;  she  had  neither  knit 
her  brow,  nor  in  any  way  changed 
countenance. 

'  Steel !  steel !'  said  the  queen  to 
herself,  sighing,  '  Yes,  they  are  all  steel 
these  Taverneys,  but  tried  gold  too.' 

'  Ah  !  good  day,  genllemen  jewellers. 
What  new  .trinket  do  you  bring  me  1 
You  know  I  have  no  money.'  , 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

THE    TEMPTRESS. 

MADAME  DE  LA  MOTHE  had  resumed 
her  station  ;  she  remained  at  a  distance 
with  unassuming  modesty,  standing  and 
attentive  as  a  woman  to  whom  it  has 
been  permitted  to  remain  and  listen. 

Messrs.  Boehmer  and  Bossange,  dres- 
sed with  much  ceremony,  presented 
themselves  to  receive  audience  of  the 
sovereign.  They  continued  bowing  un- 
til they  reached  the  queen's  arm  chair. 

'  Jewellers,'  said  she  suddenly,  'come 
here  only  to  speak  of  jewels.  You 
have  ill-chosen  your  time,  gentlemen.' 

M.  Boehmer  was  the  one  to  speak  ; 
he  was  the  orator  of  the  partnership. 

'  Madam,'  he  replied,  '  we  have  not 
come-  heVo  to  ofler  our  goods  to  your 
majesty;  we  should  fear  to  be  indis- 
creet.' 

'  Oh  !'  snid  the  queen,  who  already 
repented  having  evinced  so  much  cour- 
age, '  to  see  jewels,  is  not  to  purchase 
them.' 

'  Undoubtedly,  madam,'  continued 
Boehmer,  endeavoring  to  remember  the 
next  word  of  his  address,  '  but  we  have 
come  to  fulfil  a  duty,  and  that  has  em- 
boldened us.' 

'A  duty,'  said  the  queen,  with  some 
astonishment. 

'  It  is  with  regard  to  that  beautiful 
diamond  necklace  which  your  majesty 
did  not  deign  to  take.' 

'Ah!  yes.  The  necklace.  That  is 
again  brought  forward — is  it  ?'  cried  liid 


100 


THE  QUEEN'S  NECKLACE;  Oft,  THE 


queen,    laughing.     Doehmer  remained 
•erious. 

» The  fact  is,  that  it  was  very  beauti- 
ful, M.  Boehmer,'  added  the  queen. 

•  So  beautiful,  madam,'  observed  M. 
Doehmer  timidly,  'that  your  majesty  is 
alone  worthy  to  wear  it.' 

'  That  which  consoles  me,'  said  Marie 
Antoinette,  with  a  slight  sigh,  which 
did  not  escape  the  ears  of  Madame  de 
In  Mothe,  '  that  which  consoles  me  is, 
that  it  cost  a  million  und  a  half — is  it 
not  so,  sir  ?' 

4  Yes,  your  majesty.' 

4  And  that,'  continued  the  queen,  '  in 
the  amiable  times  in  which  we  live, 
when  the  hearts  of  the  people  have  be- 
come cold  as  the  present  winter's  sun, 
there  is  no  sovereign  who  can  purchase 
a  diamond  necklace  which  costs  fifteen 
hundred  thousand  livres.' 

4  Fifteen  hundred  thousand  livres,' 
repeated  Madame  de  la.  Mothe,  like  a 
faithful  echo. 

4  So  that,  gentlemen, — that  which  I 
could  not.  which  I  ought  not  to  pur- 
chase, no  one  else  can  have.  You  will 
reply  by  saying  that  the  stones  separ- 
ately are  good.  That  is  true,  but  I 
should  never  envy  any  one  the  posses- 
sion of  two  or  three  diamonds  ;  I  might 
envy  them  had  they  the  whole  sixty.' 

The  queen  rubbed  her  hands  with  a 
degree  of  satisfaction,  in  which  entered 
somewhat  of  a  desire  to  banter  Mes- 
sieurs Boehrrer  and  Bossange. 

'  And  it  is  on  this  precise  point  that 
your  majesty  is  mistaken,'  said  Boehmer, 
'and  that  is  also  the  true  nature  of  the 
duty  which  we  are  now  come  to  fulfil. 
The  necklace  is  sold.' 

'  Sold !'  cried  the  queen,  turning 
round. 

4  Sold  !'  cried  Madame  de  la  Mothe, 
whom  the  sudden  movement  of  her 
protectress  inspired  with  some  uneasi- 
ness us  to  her  pretended  self-denial. 

4  To  whom,  then  ?'  rejoined  the 
queen. 

4  Ah  !  madam,  that  is  a  state  secret.' 

•  A  state  secret,  good  !  thon  we  may 
very  fairly  laugh  about  it,' joyously  ex- 
cluimed  Marie.  Antoinette,  'it  frequent- 
ly happens  that  these  wonderful  secrets 
cunnot  be  told,  because  there  is  really! 
nothing  to  tell.  Is  it  not  so,  Boehmor  .'' 

4  Madam !' 

4  Oh  !  these  state  secrets  are  every 
day  a  Hairs  with  us.  Take  care,  Boeh  • 
uii-.r,  for  if  you  will  not  entrust  me 
with  yours,  1  will  have  it  stolen  from 
you  by  one  of  M.  de  Crosne's  agonis.' 

And  she   laughed  very  heartily,  thus 


manifesting  clearly  her  opinion  of  the 
pretended  secret  which  prevented 
Boehmer  and  Bossnnge  fron* revealing 
the  name  of  the  purchaser  of  the  neck- 
lace. 

'  Wjth  your  Majesty,'  said  Boehmer 
gravely,  •  we  do  not  conduct  ourselves 
as  towards  other  customers  ;  we  fime 
to  inform  your  Majesty  that  the  neck- 
lace is  sold,  because  it  is  really  sold,  and 
we  have  been  obliged  to  conceal  the 
name  of  the  purchaser,  because  in  tact/ 
the  sale  was  secretly  made,  an  ambas- 
sador having  performed  a  journey  in- 
cognito, expressly  for  this  purpose. 

The  queen  on  hearing  the  word  '  am- 
bassador' was  seized  with  another  fit  of 
hilarity.  She  turned  towards  Mudume 
de  la  Mothe,  saying  to  her  : 

'  That  which  is  perfectly  admirable 
in  Boehmer  is,  that  he  is  capable  of  be- 
lieving all  he  hast  jnst  said  to  me.  Come 
now,  Boehmer,  only  just  mention  the 
country  from  which  this  ambassador  has 
arrived.  Oh !  no,  that  would  be  too 
much,'  continued  she,  laughing,  '  only 
the  first  letter  of  the  name,  that  is  all,' 

And  having  once  got  into  a  laughing 
humor,  she  could  no  longer  restrain  it. 

•  It  is  the  ambassador  from  Portugal,' 
said  Boehmer,  lowering  his  voice,  as  if 
at  all  events,  to  prevent  his  secret  reach- 
ing the  ears  of  Madame  de  la  Mothe. 

On  hearing  this  plain  and  positive  as- 
sertion, the  queen  ceased  laughing. 

'The  ambassador  from  Portugal !'  why 
he  is  not  here,  Boehmer.' 

4  One  has  arrived  expressly  on  this 
business,  madam,' 

'  And  has  been  at  your  house,  incog- 
nito ?' 

'  Yes,  madam.' 

'  Who  is  it,  then  ? 

4  M.  de  Souza.' 

The  queen  did  not  reply.  She  rock- 
ed her  head  to  and  fro  for  a  few  mo- 
ments, then  as  if  she  hud  suddenly  como 
to  u  resolution, 

4  Well  !  she  said  '  so  much  the  better 
for  her  majesty,  the  que«n  of  Portugal ; 
the  diamonds  are  beautiful,  but  let  us 
say  no  more  about  them.' 

1  Your  majesty,  on  the  contrary,  will" 
deign  to  allow  me  to  speak  of  them,  al- 
low us,'  he  added,  '  looking  at  his  part- 
ner.' 

Bossange  bowed. 

4  Have  you  seen  these  diamonds, 
countess  ?'  said  the  queen,  looking  at 
Jeanne.  '  No,  madam.' 

4  They  are  beautiful  !  It  is  a  pity 
that  those  gentlemen  have  uot  brought 
them.' 


MYSTERIES  OF  THE  COURT  OF  LOUIS  XVI. 


191 


•  They  are  here,'  said  IJoehmer,  oa-  in  you  to  prefer  a  Bhip-of-the-Iine  to  & 
gorly.  necklace,  the  nobility,  wliu  are  also 

AIM]  Hebrew  from  his  hat,  which  j  French,  would  nut  have  considered  it 
he  had  carried  under  his  arm,  the  small  >  surprising  that  the  queen  of  Fnmce 


flat  box,  containing  the  necklace. 

4  Look,  look  nt  them,  countess,  you 
are  a  woman,  and  it  will  interest  you,' 
said  the  queen. 

And  she  withdrew  a  little  from  (hw 
Stand  of  Sevres  china,  upon  which 
Boehmer  had  with  much  art  placed  the 
necklace,  in  such  a  position  that  the 
light  striking  full  upon  the  diamonds, 
made  every  cutting  send  forth  its  varied 
fires. 

Jeanne  uttered  a  cry  of  admiration  ; 
and,  in  fact,  nothing  could  be  more 
splendid  ;  it  might  have  been  deemed  a  | 
tongue  of  fire,  now  red,  now  green,  and 
then  again  white  as  even  light  itself. 
Boehmer  occasionally  moved  the  case, 
and  the  oscillation  produced  the  effect 
of  gushing  liquid  flames. 

'Aamirable!  admirable!'  cried  Jeanne 
with  the  delirium  of  enthusiastic  admi- 
ration. 

•  Fifteen    hundred    thousand    livres. 
•which  might  be  held  in  the  hollow  of 
my  hand,''  replied   the   queen,  with  an 
affectation  of    phlegmatic    philosophy, 
such  as  M.  Rousseau,  of  Geneva,  would 
have  exhibited  under   similar  circum- 
stances. 

But  Jeanne  saw  something  more  i'n 
this  disdain  than  the  disdain  itself;  for 
she  did  not  give  up  the  hope  of  convinc- 
ing the  queen,  and  after  having  examin- 
ed the  diamonds-for  some  time: 

•  The    jeweller,   M.    Boehmer,    was 
right,'  she  said;   'there  is  in  the  whole 
world  but  one  queen,  worthy  of  wearing 
this    necklace,  and   that  queen  id  your 
majesty.' 

•  And  yet  my  mnjosty  will  not  wear 
it,'  replied  Marie  Antoinette. 

•  We  could  not  allow  it  to  depart  from 
France,  madam,  without  luying  at  your 
majesty's  feet  the  expression  of  our  re- 
gret.    It  is  u  jewel   known   now  to  all 
Europe,  and  of  which  even  king's  diu 
pute  the  possession.    That  such  or  such 
a  sovereign  should  adorn  herself  with  it, 
after   its  having    been   refused   by   the 
queen  of  France,  our  national  pride  may 
perhaps   permit,    when    you,    madam, 
•hall  once  more  have  definitively,  irre- 
vocably refused  it.' 

"  iMy  refusal  has  been  pronounced,' 
replied  the  queen ;  *  it  has  been  publish- 
ed. 1  have  been  too  much  praised  for 
that  refusal  to  retract  it.' 

•Oh,  madam,'  said  Boehmer.  'if  the 


should  purchase  a  necklace  after  having 
purchased  a  line-of-battle  ship.' 

4  Let  us  speak  no  more  of  it,'  said 
Marie  Antoinette,  casting  a  last  glance 
at  the  necklace. 

Jeanne  sighed,  by  way  of  assisting  tho 
queen's  sigh. 

"Ah,  you  sigh,  do  you,  countess? 
Were  you  in  my  place,  you  would  act 
as  I  do.' 

'  I  do  not  know,'  murmured  Jeanne. 

'  Have  you  examined  it  well  ?'  said 
the  queen,  hastily. 

1 1  could  look  at  it  for  ever,  madam  !' 

'  Let  this  curious  woman  look  on, 
gentlemen  ;  she  is  admiring  them — that 
will  not  detract  from  the  value  of  the 
diamonds ;  they  will,  unfortunately,  al- 
ways be  worth  fifteen  hundred  thousand 
livres.' 

The  word  'unfortunately'  appeared  to 
offer  a  favorable  opportunity  to  Jeanne. 

The  queen  regretted,  therefore  she 
had  wislied  ;  she  had  wished,  therefore 
she  must  still  desire  since  that  wish 
had  not  been  gratified.  Such  was 
Jeanne's  logic,  for  so  we  must  imagine, 
since  she  added  : 

•  Fifteen  hundred  thousand  livres, 
madam,  which  on  your  neck  would 
make  every  woman  die  of  jealousy, 
were  they  Cleopatra,  were  they  Venus 
herself.'. 

And  snatching  from  its  case  the 
royal  necklace,  she  threw  it  round  the 
queen's  neck  with  such  marvellous  skill, 
and  closed  the  clasp  with  such  agility, 
that  it  was  fastened  on  the  satin-like 
skin  of  Marie  Antoinette  so  suddenly, 
that  the  latter  found  herself  inundated 
with  a  phosphoric  and  changing  flood 
of  light  before  she  was  even  aware  of 
Jeanne's  intention. 

'  Oh  !  your  majesty  ;  you  are  sublime 
now,'  exclaimed  Jeanne. 

Marie  .Antoinette  hurriedly  ao 
pronched  a  looking-glass  ;  she  was  per- 
fectly dn/.xling. 

Her  neck,  white  and  flexible  as  that 
of  Lady  Jane  Grey,  that  neck  delicate 
as  the  stalk  of  the  lily,  destined  to  full 
like  Virgil's  flower  beneath  the  tren- 


chant  iron,    rose   gracefully 
golden    ringlets    above    this 


with     its 

luminous 

flood. 

Jeanne  had  ventured  to  remove  a  ker- 
chief from  the  queen's  shoulders,  BO 
thul  tho  lowest  range  of  diamonds  full 


people  huve  considered  it  magnanimous   ou  her  pearl-like  bosom.     The  quuoil 


192 


THE  q^JEEN'S  NECKLACE;  OR,  THE 


was  radiant,  the  woman  was  snporb. 
Lovers  and  subjects,  all  would  have 
fallen  prostrate  at  her  feet. 

iMaiia  Antoinetie  forgot,  herself  BO 
far  as  to  admire  herself  in  the  glass, 
then  trembling  with  apprehension,  she 
wished  to  tear  the  necklace  from  her 
shoulders. 

1  Enough,'  said  she,  '  enough.' 

•  Your  majesty  has  worn  it,'  cried 
Boehmer,  '  no  one  else  should  be  per- 
mitted to  wear  it.' 

'Impossible!'  replied  the  queen, 
firmly.  '  Gentlemen,  I  have  played  u 
little  with  these  diamonds,  to  jest  long- 
er with  them  would  be  u  fault.' 

'  Your  majesty  has  ample  time  to  ac- 
custom yourself  to  this  idea  ;  we  will 
return  to-morrow.' 

4  To  defer  payment  is  still  to  pay. 
And  besides  which,  why  defer  payment, 
you  are  in  want  of  the  money  ?  and 
doubtless  you  will  be  |  aid  more  advan- 
tageously.' 

'  Yes,  your  majesty,  in  ready  money,' 
replied  Boehmer,  the  feelings  of  a 
tradesman  again  prevailing. 

'Take  it!  take  it!'  cried  the  queen  ; 
•Into  t'.ie  case  with  it,  quick,  quick  !' 

'  Your  majesty  perhaps  forgets  that 
such  an  ornament  is  always  money,  and 
that  a  hundred  years  hence  the  neck- 
lace will  be  worth  as  much  as  it  is  to- 
day.' 

•Give  me  fifteen  hundred' thousand  j 
liVres,  countess,'  said  the  queen  with  i>.  i 
forced  smile,  '  and  then  we  will  see.' 

'Oh!  if  I  but  had  them!'  exclaimed 
Jennne,  and  there  she  paused — long 
phrases  are  sometimes  not  so  eloquent 
as  an  appropriate  silence. 

It  was  in  vain  that  Boehmer  and  Bos- 
sange  occupied  a  quarter  of  an  hour  in 
closing  up  and  putting  padlocks  on  their 
diamonds.  The  queen  did  not  slir. 

It  could  be  perceived  by  her  sorrow- 
ful looks,  by  her  silence,  that  the  im- 
pression made  by  this  scene  hud  been 
vivid — the  struggle  painful. 

According  to  her  usual  habit,  when 
out  of  humor,  she  took  up  a  book,  and 
turned  over  u  low  pages  without  read- 
ing them. 

The  jewellers  took  their  leave,  say- 
ing :  '  Your  majesty  has  refused  /' 

•Yes — and   again,  yes."   sighed    the' 
queen,  and  this  time  tshe  bighud  so  that 
all  might  hear. 

They  withdrew. 

Jeanne   saw  that  the  foot  of  Marie 
Artoinotte  was   beating  time  above  the 
Velvet  cushion  on  which  its  impression ' 
was  still  left. 


'  She  suflTors,'  thought  the  countess. 

Suddenly  the  queen  rose,  took  a  turo 
in  the  room,  ami  then  stopped  before 
Jeanne,  whose  look  fascinated  her. 

*  Countess,'  said  ahe,  in  a  brief  tone, 
'it  appears  that  the  king  will  not  return. 
Our  little  petit.iuii  must  therefore  be 
deferred  to  the  next  audience.' 

Jeanne  curtseyed  respectfully,  nnd 
drew  back  towards  the  dror,  keeping 
her  face  turned  towards  the  queen. 

'  But  I  shall  think  of  you,'  added  the 
queen,  kindly.' 

Jeanne  pressed  her  lips  tri  the  queen'* 
hand,  as  if  she  wished  to  leave  her 
heart  there,  and  retired,  leaving  Marie 
Antoinette  a  prey  to  vexation  and  the 
vapors. 

'•  The  vexation  of  want  of  means' — 
the  vapors  of  unsatisfied  wishes,'  said 
Jeanne  to  herself;  'and  she  a  uueen* 
Oil,  no!  she  is  a  woman  !' 

The  Countess  disappeared. 


CHAPTER  XL. 

TWO    AMBITIONS,  WHICH  WISH    TO    PASS 
FOR  TWO  LOVE  PASSIONS. 

JEANNE  also  was  a  woman,  and  with- 
out being  a  queen. 

The  result  of  this  was,  that  sh«  had 
scarcely  seated  herself  in  her  carnage, 
when  she  began  to  compare  the  beauti- 
ful palace  at  Versailles,  its  rich  and 
splendid  furniture,  to  her  fif.h  story  in 
the  Rue  Saint  Gilles ;  its  magnificently 
attired  lackeys  to  her  old  servant  Clo- 
thelde. 

But  almost  immediately  the  humble 
garret  and  the  old  servant  lied  from  her 
into  the  deep  snades  of  the  past,  like 
one  of  those  visions  which,  ceasing  to 
exist,  have  never  existed:  and  Jeanne 
Saw  before  her  eyes  her  prelty  house 
in  the  faubourg  Saint  Aiiioine,  so  ele- 
gant, so  graceful,  so  coinfortitlilc* — as 
would  be,  said  in  our  days — with  her 
lackeys,  whose  liveries  hud  It-ss  em- 
broidery about  them  than  those  of  Ver- 
sailles, but  as  respectful  and  us  obe- 
dient. 

This   house-  nnd  those  Inckrys  were  • 
her  own  Versailles;   she  was  no  less  a 
queon  there  than  .Marie  Antoinette  her- 
self, and  her  desires  once  formed,  pro- 
vided she  knesv  how  to  limit  them,  not' 
to   the   strictly   necessary,    but   within 

'  Tlic  KnirlL-b  word  coin  for tubleu  uuir  complete- 
ly udupu.d  111  Fnoicc. — XKANS. 


MYSTERIES  OF- THE  COURT  OF  LOUIS  XVI. 


193 


rensonnblo  bounds — wore  as  well  mid  as 
speedily  executed  a.s  if  she;  had  wielded 
the  sceptre. 

It  was,  therefore,  with  a  cheerful 
fiice  and  a  smile  upon  her  lips,  that 
Jeanne  re-entered  her  house.  It.  was 
Btill  early  ;  she  took  paper,  pen  and  ink, 
wrote  a  few  lines,  enclosed  them  in  a 
fine  nnd  perfumed  envelope,  wrote  the 
address,  and  rang  her  bell. 

The  last  vibration  of  the  bell  had 
scarcely  ceased,  when  the  door  opened 
and  n  servant  stood  upon  the  threshold 
waiting  her  orders. 

4 1  was  rifclit,'  murmured  Jeanne,  'the 
queen  is  not  better  served.' 

Then  stretching  forth  her  hand — 

*This  letter  to  my  lord,  the  Cardinal 
de  Rohan,'  said  she. 

The  lackey  advanced,  took  the  note 
and  left  the  room  without  saying  a  word, 
with  the  mute  obedience  of  servants  in 
respectable  families, 

The  countess  fell  into  a  deep  revery, 
a  revery  which  was  not  new,  but  which 
formed  a  continuation  to  the  one  she 
had  indulged  in  on  the  road. 

Five  minutes  had  not  elapsed  when 
•ojne  one  scratched  at  the  door. 

'  Come  in,'  said  Madame  de  la  Mothe. 

The  same  lackey  made  his  appear- 
ance. 

4  Well  ?'  cried  Madame  de  la  Mothe, 
in  a  slightly  impatient  tone,  imagining 
that  her  order  had  not  been  executed. 

•  At  the  moment  I  was  going  out  to 
execute  your  orders,  my  lady  countess,' 
suit!  the  lackey,  '  my  lord  knocked  at 
the  door.  I  told  him  that  I  was  going 
to  his  hotel.  He  took  the  letter,  read 
it,  jumped  out  of  his  carriage  and  came 
into  the  house,  saying, 

4  'Tis  well ;  announce  me.' 

•Go  on.' 

4  My  lord  is  here  ;  he  waits  until  it 
shall  jpleose  you,  madam,  to  allow  him 
to  come  in.' 

A  slight  smile  played  round  the  lips 
of  the  countess.  After  n  delay  of  about 
two  seconds,  4  request  him  to  come  in,' 
she  said,  in  a  tone  of  marked  satisfac- 
tion. 

Were  these  two  seconds  allowed  to 
elapse  for  the  purpose  of  having  the 
satisfaction  of  keeping  a  prince  of  the 
Church  waiting  in  her  ante-chamber, 
or  were  they  necessary  to  the  complete 
concoction  of  her  plan  ? 

The  prince  appeared  at  tho  door. 

<  >n  returning  to  her  house,  in  send- 
uig  for  the  cardinal,  in  experiencing  so 
much  satisfaction  at  tho  cardinal's  be- 
ing there,  Jeanne  hud  then  a  plan? 


Yes,  for  the  fantasy  of  tho  queen, 
similar  to  the  ignis  fiituys  which  light 
up  a  darksome  valley,  this  fantasy  of 
the  queen,  nnd  above  all.  of  the  woman, 
had  exposed  to  the  eyes  of  the  intrigu- 
ing countess  all  the  recesses  of  a  soul 
|  too  haughty  moreover  to  take  much 
I  pains  to  conceal  them. 

The  road  from  Versailles  to  Paris  is 
a  long  one,  and  when  it  is  .travelled 
over  side  by  side  with  the  demon  of  cu- 
pidity, ht>  has  time  and  to  spare  to  whis- 
per into  your  ear  the  most  daring  coun- 
cils. 

Jeanne  felt  herself  intoxicated  by 
that  large  amount,  fifteen  hundred 
thousand  livres,  spread  out  in  diamonds 
on  the  white  satin  rf  Messrs.  Boehmer 
and  Bossange's  jewel  case. 

Was  not  this  sum  of  fifteen  hundred 
thousand  livres  a  princely  fortune,  and 
above  all,  to  the  poor  mendicant,  who 
not  a  month  before  held  out  her  hand  to 
receive  alms  from  the  great. 

Certainly  there  was  a  greater  dis- 
tance between  the  Jeanne  de  Valois  of 
the  rue  Saiot  Claude  and  the  Jeanne  de 
Valois  of  the  faubourg  Saint  Autoiue, 
than  between  the  Jeanne  de  Valois  of 
the  faubourg  Saint  Antoine  and  the 
Jeanne  de  j/alois,  mistress  of  the  neck- 
lace. 

She  had  therefore  accomplished  more 
than  half  the  distance  which  led  to  for- 
tune. 

And  this  fortune  which  Jeanne  covet- 
ed was  not.  an  illusion,  as  is  the  word  of 
a  contract,  as  is  a  territorial  possession, 
— both  things  of  great  value,  undoubt- 
ed!}', but  to  which  it  is  necessary  to  ad- 
join the  intelligence  of  th»>  mind  or  of 
the  eyes. 

No,  this  necklace  was  a  very  different 
thing  to  a  contract  or  an  estate  :  this 
necklace  was  a  visible,  tangible  fortune, 
and  therefore  was  it  always  there,  burn- 
ing and  fascinating;  and  since  the  queen 
desired  k,  Jeanne  might  bo  permitted 
to  dream  of  it;  since  the  queen  could 
make  up  her  mind  to  forego  the  pos- 
session of  it,  Madame  de  la  Mothe 
might  limit  her  ambition  to  obtaining  it. 

Therefore  a  thousand  vague  ideas, 
those  strange  phantoms  with  cloud-like 
outlines,  which  the  poet  Aiistophnnes 
assimilates  to  men  during  their  mo- 
ments of  passion,  a  thousand  desires,  a 
thousand  yearnings  for  possession,  as- 
tailed  Jeanne  during  her  journey  from 
Versailles  to  Paris,  assuming  the  forma 
of  wolves,  of  foxes,  and  of  winged  ser- 
pents. 

The    cardinal   who   was  to    realize 


1D4 


THE  QUEEN'S  NECKLACE:  OR,  THK 


these  dreams,  broke  in  upon  them  in 
replying,  by  his  unexpected  presence, 
to  the  deaire  which  Madame  de  la 
Mothe  hud  felt  to  see  him. 

He  also  had  his  dreuins — he  also  hnd 
his  ambition,  which  he  concealed  under 
the  mask  of  affectionate  eagerness,  un- 
der the  semblance  of  fervent,  love. 

"Ah!  dear  Jeanne,"  said  he,  ''tis 
you.  Vuu  have  in  truth  become  so 
necessary  to  me,  that  my  whole  day  has 
passed  most  gloomily,  knowing  thai,  you 
were  far  distant  from  me.  Have  you 
returned,  at  Teast,  in  good  health  from 
Versailles?' 

4  Why,  us  you  see,  Monseigneur." 

•And  satisfied  ?' 

'  Enchanted.' 

'  The  queen  has  then  received  you  ?' 

'  Immediately  on  my  arrival  I  was  ad- 
mitted to  her  presence.' 

'  You  are  really  most  lucky.  One 
could  wager  from  your  triumphant  air 
that  the  queen  has  spoken  to  you.' 

•  1  passed   about  three   hours  in  her 
majesty's  cabinet.' 

The  cardinal  started,  and  was  very 
near  repeating  after  Jeanne,  in  a  tone 
of  great  surprise,  '  Three  hours  !'  but 
tie  restrained  himself, 

•  You  are  really  an  enchantress,'  said 
he,  '  and  no  one  can  resist  you.' 

'Oh,  oh!  you  exaggerate,  prince.' 

'No,  in  truth;  and  so  you  s:iy  you 
remained  three  hours  with  the  queen  ?' 

Jeanne  gave  an  affirmative  nod. 

'Three  hours  !'  reiterated  the  cardi- 
nal, smiling;  'what  a  number  of  things 
a  woman  of  superior  talent  like  yourself 
could  say  in  three  hours.' 

'  Oh  !  I  can  promise  you,  monseig- 
neur,  that  I  did  not  lose  my  time.' 

'  I  would  wager,'  the  cardinal  ventur- 
ed to  say,  ' that  during  those  three 
hours  you  did  not  once  think  of  me 
even  for  a  minute.' 

•Ungrateful  man  ." 

4  Really  !'  exclaimed  the  cardinal. 

'I  did  more  than  think  of  you.' 

'  What  did  you,  then  ?' 

'I  spoke  of  you.' 

•  You   spoke  of   me,  and   to  whom  ?' 
inquired  the  prelate,  whose  heart  began 
to  beat  with  so   much   violence  that,  all 
the   self-command    he    possessed  could 
not  enable  him  to  conceal  his  emotion. 

'To  whom  should  I  speak,  if  not  to 
the  queen  }'  replied  Jeanne  ;  !;ut  while 
uttering  these  words  of  such  ;.;rea  in- 
terest to  the  cardinal,  she  had  the  art 
not  to  look  at  the,  prince,  as  if  ihe  effect 
they  were  to  produce  caused  her  no 
eort  of  anxiety. 


M.  de  Rohan  was  absolutely  palpitat- 
ing. 

'  Ah  !'  cried  he  :  '  let  us  henr,  dear 
countess — tell  me  all  about  it ;  for  real- 
ly I  feel  so  much  interest  in  nil  that 
hnppens  to  you.  thai  I  will  not  al'ow 
you  to  omit  even  thf  slightest  detail.' 

Jeanne  smiled  ;  she  knew  what  ir,  was 
that  interested  the  curdinn)  as  '.ve.ll  as  he 
did. 

But  ns  this  very  minute  nnrrntion  had 
boen  already  carefully  conned  over  and 
arranged  in  her  mind  ;  as  sho  would  of 
herself  have  related  it,  even  had  the 
cardinal  not  pressed  her  to  do  so,  ehe 
began  gently,  making  him  drag,  as  it 
were,  each  syllable  from  her:  relating 
the  whole  interview,  the  whole  conver- 
sation, producing  by  every  word  the 
conviction  that  by  one  of  those  happy 
chances  which  make  the  fortune  of 
courtiers,  she  had  arrived  at,  Versailles 
nt  a  moment,  and  under  circumstances 
of  so  singular  a  nature,  that  from  a  mere 
stranger  she  had  become  an  almost,  in- 
dispensable friend.  In  fact,  in  one  day 
Jeanne  de  la  Mothe  had  'been  initiated 
into  the  misfortunes  of  royally. 

,\1.  de  Rohan  appeared  to  observe 
only  that,  part  of  the  narrative  which 
regarded  what  the  queen  had  said  for 
Jeanne. 

Jeanne,  in  her  relation,  only  gave 
stress  to  that  which  the  queen  had  -*uid 
of  M.  de  Rohan. 

She  had  scarcely  completed  her  nar- 
ration when  a  servant  came  in  to  an- 
nounce that  supper  was  ready. 

Jeanne  invited  the  cardinal  by  a 
glance.  The  cardinal  accepted  by  a 
sign. 

He  offered  his  arm  to  tlu-  misti^s*  of 
the  house,  who  had  BO  quickly  become 
habituated  to  do  the  honors  of  it,  and 
they  went  into  the  dining  room. 

When  supper  was  over,  when  the 
cardinal  had  drunk  down  large  draughts 
of  hope  cind  love  from  the  twenty  times 
repeated,  twenty  times  interrupted  nar- 
rative of  the  enchantress,  he  IVIt,  at 
length,  compelled  to  come  to  souu-  de- 
cisive conclusion  with  a  woman  who 
held  the  hearts  of  sovereigns  in  her 
hands. 

For  he  remarked  wilh  surprise, 
amounting  almost  to  terror,  that  instead 
nf  assuming  airs,  as  almost  every  wo- 
man would  do  who  is  much  courted, 
and  who  can  render  important  services, 
Ihe  countess  ;inlicipat':d  his  wishes,  and 
with  a  grace  widely  differing  from  the 
leonine  haughtiness  evinced  at  the  last 
supper  partaken  of  in  the  same  spot. 


MYSTERIES  OF  THE  COURT  OF  LOUIS  XVI. 


IDS 


Joan  no,  upon  this  occasion,  did  the 
lionorn  of  the  house,  not  only  as  n  wo- 
man completely  mistress  of  her  solf, 
but  as  mistress  of  others.  There  was 
no  embarrassment  in  her  demeanor,  no 
species  of  reserve  in  her  accent.  Hud 
slio  not  during  the  greater  part  of  that 
dny  been  taking  lessons  in  aristocratic 
bearing  from  the  very  first  personages 
in  the  kingdom,  had  not  n  queen,  unriv- 
alled in  grace  and  benuly,  called  her, 
her  dear  countess  ?  Therefore  the  car- 
dinal submitted  to  this  superiority,  he 
a  man  of  superior  station  and  endow- 
ment, did  not  even  attempt  to  resist  it. 

'  Countess,'  said  he,  taking  her  hand, 
•in  you  there  are  two  women.' 

*  And  how  so  ?'  inquired  the  countess. 
'  The  one  of  yesterday,  and  the  one 

of  to-day.' 

'  And  which  of  the  two  does  your 
Eminence  prefer  ?' 

4 1  really  cannot  decide  ;  I  only  feel 
that  the  one  of  to-day  is  an  Armida,  a 
Circe,  altogether  irresistible.' 

'  And  one  whom  I  hope  you  will  not 
•even  attempt  to  resist,  monseigneur, 
prince  though  you  are.' 

The  prince  slid  gently  from  his  chair 
and  fell  upon  his  knees  before  Madame 
de  la  Mothe. 

4  You  beg  for  alms,'  she  said. 

'And  I  expect  that  you  will  grant 
them  me.' 

1  This  is  a  day  for  the  display  of  mu- 
nificence,' replied  Jeanne,  '  the  Coun- 
tess de  Valois  has  assumed  her  rank, 
she  has  been  acknowledged,  and  is  now 
a  lady  of  the  Court ;  in  a  short  time  she 
will  count  among  the  proudest  women 
of  Versailles  ;  she  can,  therefore,  open 
her  hand,  and  extend  it  to  whomsoever 
ehe  may  please.' 

'  Even  were  it  to  a  prince,'  said  M. 
de  Rohan. 

•  Even  to  a  cardinal,'  said  Jeanne. 

The  cardinal  affixed  a  long  and  burn- 
ing kiss  upon  that  rebellious  little  hand, 
and  then  having  consulted  the  coun- 
tess's eyes,  and  finding  thut  she  smiled 
upon  him,  ho  rose. 

He  then  went  into  the  ante-chamber 
and  whispered  a  fe.w  words  to  his  run- 
ning footman.  Two  minutes  after- 
wards \v,»s  heard  the  noise  of  his  car- 
riage wheels  as  it  drove  away. 

The  countess  raised  her  head. 

'Faith,  Countess,' cried  the  Prince  as 
he  returned  intolhe  room,  'there  is  no 
retreat  now,  I  have  burned  my  ships.' 

'And  then)  is  no  great  merit  in  that,' 
replied  the  Countess,  '  since  you  have 
Biii'oly  reached  the  port.' 


CHAP'  KR  X  J. 

IN  WUICH  WE    BF.niN  T>  SEE  fAi.  £3 
UiM>KK  TIIK  MASKS. 

Long  confabulations  are  the  privilege 
of  persons  who  have  nothing  further 
to  tell  each  other.  After  the  happiness 
of  remaining  silent,  there  is  no  greater 
one  than  that  of  talking  a  great  deal 
without  set  or  formal  phrases. 

Two  hours  after  sending  awny  his 
carriage,  the  cardinal  and  the  countess 
were  on  the  terms  we  have  just  spokea 
of.  The  countess  had  yielded,  the  car- 
dinal had  conquered,  and  yet  the  cardi- 
nal was  the  slave  ;  the  countess  was  the 
victor.  Two  men  deceive  one  another 
while  shaking  hands.  A  man  and  wo- 
man deceive  each  other  with  a  kiss, 

But  in  this  instance  the  one  deceived 
the  other  because  the  other  wished  to 
be  deceived. 

Each  of  them  had  an  end  to  answer 
To  attain  this  end  an  intimacy  was  re- 
quisite. Each  of  them  therefore  had 
gained  their  object. 

Therefore  the  cardinal  did  not  gire 
himself  the  trouble  to  conceal  his  im- 
patience. He  merely,  after  a  slight 
turn,  managed  to  bring  the  conversation 
back  to  the  subject  of  Versailles  and  the 
honors  which  tliere  awaited  the  new 
favorite  of  the.  queen. 

'  She  is  generous,'  he  said,  'and  she 
does  not  stop  at  any  thing  to  gratify  the 
persons  whom  she  likes.  She  posses- 
ses the  singular  tact  of  giving  a  little  to 
a  great  many  persons,  and  of  giving 
much  to  a  few  chosen  friends.' 

1  You  then  believe  her  to  be  rich  ?' 
said  Madame  de  la  Mothe. 

1  She  knows  how  to  obtain  resources 
by  a  word,  a  gesture,  a  sn  ile.  There 
never  has  been  a  minister,  with  the  ex- 
ception, perhaps,  of  Turgot.  who  has 
had  courage  enough  to  refusfe  the  queen 
whatever  she  might  ask. 

'  Well,  as  to  me,'  said  Madame  de 
la  Mothe,  'I  believe  her  poorer  than  you 
imagine  her;  poor  queen,  or  rather  I 
should  say  poor  woman  ' 

1  What  can  you  mean  ?' 

'  Is  a  person  rich  when  compelled  to 
submit  to  privations  .'* 

k  Privations  !  dear  Jeanne,  tell  me  all 
about  it.' 

•  Good  Heaven,  I  will  tell  you  what  1 
have  seen  ;  neither  more  nor  Jess.' 

'Say  on,  I  «m  ull  attention.' 

'Imagine  to  jourself  two  dreadful 
tormenis  which  the  unfortunate  queen 
has  endured.' 


108 


THE  QUEEN'S  (NECKLACE;  OR,  THE 


« Two  torments'  what  are  they?  Come 
now  tench  me  ?' 

'Do  you  know  whnt  the  longing  of  a 
woman  is,  my  dear  Prince  ?' 

'  No ;  but  I  should  wish  that  'you 
would  tell  it  me.' 

4  Well,  the  queen  has  a  desire  she 
cannot  satisfy !' 

4  For  whom  ?' 

'No;  for  what?  For  a  diamond 
necklace.' 

4  Wait  a  little  ;  I  recollect.  Do  you 
not  nHude  to  Boehmer's  diamonds  ?' 

'  Precisely.' 

'Oh  !  that's  an  old  story,  countess.' 

•  Be  it  old  or  new,  is  it  not  a  positive 
mortification  for  a  queen,  that  she  can- 
not  obtain  that  which  a  mere  favorite 
was    so    near   obtaining  ?     Had   Louis 
XV.  lived  but    a   fortnight  longer,   and 
Jeanne  Vaubernier  would  have  posses- 
sed that  which  Maria  Antoinette  can- 
not now  obtain.' 

1  Well,  dear  Countess,  it  is  precisely 
em  that  point  that  you  are  mistaken. — 
The  queen  could  have  had  these  dia- 
monds five  or  six  times  over,  but  she  has 
ahvays  refused  them.' 

•Oh." 

'  When  I  tell  you  that  the  king  offer- 
ed them,  and  that  she  refused  to  accept 
them  from  him.'  And  the  cardinal  relat- 
ed  the  whole  story  of  the  Hoe  of  battle 
ship. 

Jeanne  listened  eagerly,  and  when 
the  cardinal  had  ended,  said — 

•Well,  and  what  then  ?' 

•What  then." 

'Yes;  what  doaa  that  prove  ?' 

•  Why,  that  she  did  not  wish,  for  it 
apparently.' 

•  'Jeanne  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

•You  know  what  women  are,  you 
know  the  court ;  you  well  know  kings, 
and  yet  yon  nllow  yourself  to  be  misled 
by  such  an  answer.' 

•  The  douse!  I  merely  prove  the  re- 
fusal.' 

1  My  dear  prince,  thftt  proves  one 
thing  only — that  the  queen  thought  it 
accessary  to  utter  a  brilliant  saying,  ono 
that  would  be  popular,  ajid  she  did  so.' 

'Good!'  cried  the  cardinal,  'and  this 
is  your  faith  in  royal  virtue',  scepti-:  that 
you  are!  Why,  S;iint  Thomas  was  a 
believer  in  comparison  with  you.' 

•  Sceptic  or  believer,  I  will  affirm  one 
thing.' 

•  And  what  is  that  ?' 

'  It  is,  that  the  queen   had   no  sooner 
refused  the  necklace  than  shew.' 
ed  with  an  extravagant  desire    to  hav<; 
it.' 


'  These  idens  are  the  mere  coinage  of 
j'our  own  bruin,  clear  countess  ;  but 
there  is  one  thing  which  you  must  ab- 
solutely admit;  that  with  all  her 
the  queen  has  one  great  quality.' 

•  And  what  is  that?' 

•  She  is  disinterested  ;  she  covets  not 
gold  nor    silver,    nor  precious  stones;, 
she  weighs  these  minerals  at  their  true 
value  ;  to  her  a  flower  in  her  bosom  i» 
as  precious  us  a  diamond  in  her  ear.' 

'  I  do  not  assert  the  contrary  ;  but 
what  I  do  assert  is,  that  at  this  moment 
she  has  a  longing  desire  to  put  a  great 
many  diamonds  round  her  neck.' 

4  Come,  countess,  prove  that  asser- 
tion.' 

4  Nothing  can  be  more  easy.  I  saw 
the  necklace  but  just  now.' 

'You?' 

4  Yes  ;  I  not  only  saw  it,  but  I  touched 
it.' 

4  And  where  ?' 

'  At  Versailles.' 

4  At  Versailles  ?' 

4  Yes,  where  the  jewellers  took  it  to 
tempt  the  queen  for  the  last  time.' 

'  And  is  it  handsome  ?' 

•  'Tis  positively  marvellous/ 

'  Then,  you  who  are  really  woman, 
you  can  comprehend  that  such  a  neck- 
lace can  be  desired.' 

'  I  can  comprehend  that  a  woman  can 
lose  both  appetite  and  sleep  from  wish- 
ing for  it.' 

Alas  !  why  have  I  not  a  ship  to  giro 
the  king?' 

•  A  ship  ?' 

'Yes,  and  he   would   give    me   the 
necklace,    and   if   once   I  had  it,  you 
might  eat  and  sleep  in  peace.' 
'  You  are  jesting.' 
'  I  swear  I  am  not.' 
»  Well,  then  ;,  I  will  tell  you  a  thin  { 
which  will  much  astonish  you.' 
What  is  it  ?' 

I  would  not  have  the  necklace.' 
So  much  the  better,  countess,  for  f 
could  not  giva  it  you.' 

4  Alas  !  neither  you  nor  any  one  ;  ifc 
is  that  which  the  queen  feels,  and  the\  a- 
fore  she  desires  it.' 

'But  I  tell  you  again,  that  the  king 
offered  it  to  her.' 

Jeanne  made  a  sudden  gesture,  one 
almost  of  impatience. 

And  I  tell  you,'  said  she,  '  that  wo- 
men   above    nil,   like  that   sort   of  gift 
not  presented  by   persons   who 
lige  tl.cn)  to  accept  it.' 
Ttic.  ciinliuul  looked  at  Jeanne  more 


I  do  not  understand  you,'  said  he 


MYSTERIES  <OF  THE  COtHlT  OF  LOUIS  XVI. 


197 


•So  much  tbfl  better;  lot  UM  say  no 
more  nbout  it.  And  what  is  the  neck- 
lace to  you  since  we  cannot  hnve  it  ' 

'Oh!  were  I  the  king  and  you  the 
queen,  I  would  manage  to  oblige  you  to 
aoc«|)t  it.' 

•  Well  then  ;  without  being  the  king, 
oblige  the  queen  to  take  it,  and  you  will 
flee  whether  she  will  be  us  angry  as 
you  imagine,  nt  such  compulsion.' 

The  cnrdimil  again  looked  nt  Jeanne. 

'Really,'  said  he,  'you  are  sure  that 
you  are  not  mistaken:  the  queen  has 
positively  so  strong  a  desire.' 

'  A  devouring  one.  Listen  to  me, 
dear  prince,'  said  Jeanne,  'did  you  not 
once  tell  me,  or  did  I  hear  it  from  some 
other  person,  that  you  would  have  no 
objection  to  becoming  the  prime  min- 
ister, i 

'  It  is  very  possible  that  I  may  have 
said  so,  countess.' 

4  Well,  then,  let  us  lay  a  wager — ' 

4  On  what  subject?' 

4  That  the  queen  would  make  'that 
man  the  minister,  who  should  manage 
matters  so  as  to  have  that  necklace  laid 
upon  her  toilette  table  within  a  week.' 

4  Oh  !  countess.' 

4 1  say  that  which  I  think.  Would 
you  prefer  my  not  thinking  aloud  ?' 

1  Oh  !  by  no  means.' 

1  Moreover,  what  I  say  does  not  con- 
cern you.  It  is  clear  ns  daylight  that 
you  would  not  sink  a  million  and  a  half 
to  gratify  a  royal  caprice.  It  would, 
upon  my  word,  be  paying  far  too  dearly 
for  a  portfolio,  which  you  might,  per- 
haps, obtain -for  nothing,  and  which  is 
your  due.  Therefore  consider  all  I 
hare  said  as  mere  gossiping.  I  am  like 
the  parrots,  I  have  been  dazzled  by  the 
sufn,  and  I  am  now  constantly  repeating, 
•  How  hot  it  is.'  Ah  !  monseigneur, 
what  a  severe  trial  is  a  day  of  royal  fa- 
vor, to  a  poor  little  provincial  like  my- 
self. To  gaze  upon  these  rays,  one 
ought  to  be  an  eagle  as  you  are.' 

The  cardinal  became  thoughtful. 

'  There  now,  only  see.  You  think  so 
ill  of  me,  you  imagine  me  to  be  so  vul- 
gar, so  miserable,  that  you  no  longer 
deign  even  to  speak  to  me.' 

4  Oh  !  how  can  you  say  that  ?' 

4  The  queen,  thus  judged  by  me,  is 
me.' 

4  Countess  !' 

4  How  can  I  help  it  ?  I  thought  sho 
had  a-  desire  for  these  diamonds,  be- 
cause she  sighed  while  looking  at  them. 
I  believed  it,  because,  in  her  place,  I 
should  have  desired  them.  Excuse  my 
weakness.' 


'  You  ar«  AD  adorable  Woman,  con» 
tess.  You,  by  a  moat  singular  combi- 
nation, possess  both  tenderness  of  heart 
and  strength  of  mind.  At  certain  mo- 
ments, there  is  so  little  of  the  woman 
in  you,  that  you  alarm  me  ;  at  others, 
you  are  so  adorable,  that  I  bless  heaven- 
for  it,  and  I  bless  you.' 

And  the  gallant  cardinal  sealed  this 
compliment  with  a  kiss. 

4  But,  come  now,  let  us  talk  no  more 
of  those  matters,'  said  he. 

4  Be  it  so,'  murmured  Jeanne  to  her- 
self, '  but  I  believe  the  hook  has  takea 
good  hold.' 

Although  the  cardinal  had  said,  'let 
us  talk  no  more  about  it,'  he  soon  re- 
turned to  the  subject. 

4  And  you  think  it  was  Boehmer  wha 
thus  returned  to  the  charge  ?'  said  DA. 

'  Yes,  with  Bossange,'  replied  thfc 
countess,  very  innocently. 

•  Bossange — let  me  eee — *-'  said  the 
cardinal,  as  if  endeavoring  to  remem- 
ber; '  Bossange  !  is  not  he  his  partner?* 

4  Yes  :  a  tall  thin  man.' 

'  Ah  !  precisely  ;  and  he  lives- ?' 

4  He  must  live  somewhere  about  the 
quay  de  la  Ferraille,  or  that  of  I'Ecole  ; 
at  all  events,  it  must  be  in  the  neighbor- 
hood of  the  Pont  Neuf.'  . 

'Of  the  Pont  Neuf? — yes,  you  or* 
right.  I  have  read  those  uami-r  over 
some  door,  as  I  rode  by  in  my  carriage.* 

4  Come,  come,'  murmured  Jenm. 
herself;  'the  fish  bites  more  and  more.' 

Jeanne  was  right,  for  her  prey  hud 
swallowed  the  buii,  hook  mm  all. 

For  the  very  next  morning,  on  leav-- 
ing  the  countess's  house  in  the  faubourg 
Suint  Atitoine,  the  cardinal  drove  straight. 
to  Boehmer's. 

He  thought  of  remaining  incognito, 
but  Boehmer  and  Bossange  ware  jew.  I- 
lers  to  the  court,  and  on  the  first  words 
uttered  by  him,  they  called  Iriuu  jkf«.«- 
seigncur.' 

'  Well,  then — yes,  Mouseigtieur,' «;»id. 
he;  'but  as  you  recognize  me,  tatu: 
care,  at  least,  that  others  do  not  recog- 
nize me.' 

'  You  may  be  perfectly  tranquil  on 
that  head.  We  await  the  orderr  of 
monseigueur.' 

4 1  have  come  to  purchase  th.1  diamond 
necklace  which  you  showed  to  the 
queen.' 

4  Really,  monseigneur,  wo  are  exce»-t 
sively  grieved,  but  you  are  como  U/o 
late.' 

4  And  how  so?' 

4  It  is  Bold.' 

1  That  is  impossible,  since  it  was  onrr 


198 


THE  QUEEN'S  NECKLACE;  OR,  THE 


yesterday  you  went  to  offer  it  agnin  to 
the  queen.' 

1  Who  agnin  refused  it,  monseigneur, 
and  that  is  the  reason  for  our  former 
bargain  holding  good.' 

'And  with  whom  did  you  make  that 
bargain  ?'  inquired  the  cardinal. 

'That  is  a  secret,  monseigneur.' 

4  Too  m:my  secrets,  M.  Boehmer.' 

And  the  cardinal  rose. 

'  But,  monseigneur * 

•  I  thought,  sir,'  continued  the  cardi- 
nal,   '  that  a  jeweller  to  the  crown  of 
France  should  content  himself  with  sell- 
ing these  beautiful  jewels  in  France — 
you  prefer  Portugal ;    well,  as  it  best 
pleases  you,  M.  Boehmer.' 

4  Monseigneur  is  acquainted  with  the 
whole  affair  !'  exclaimed  the  jeweller. 

'  Well,  and  what  do  you  find  so  very 
astonishing  in  that  ?' 

•  Why,  if  monseigneur  knows  all,  it 
can  have  been  only  from  the  queen.' 

4  And  supposing  it  to  be  so  /'  aaid  M. 
de  Rohan,  without  denying  the  supposi- 
tion, which  flattered  his  self  love. 

•  Oh  !  that  would   change   the   affair 
entirely,  monseigneur.' 

•  Explain  yourself,  I  do  not  understand 
you.' 

'  Will  moiiHfeigneur  allow  me  to  speak 
with  perfect,  freedom.' 

4  Speak  on.' 

'  Well,  then,  the  queen  wishes  to 
have  our  necklace.' 

'  You" believe  so  ?' 

•  We  ar«  sure  of  it.' 

•  Ah  !  and  why  then  does  she  not  pur- 
chase it  ?' 

'  Why,  because  she  refused  to  nccept 
it  from  the  king,  and  to  retract  from 
that  determination  for  which  her  ma- 
jesty has  been  so  much  lauded,  would 
argue  some  caprice  on  her  part.' 

1  The  queen  is  nbove  all  that  can  be 
8ai,l  of  her.' 

•  Yes,  when  it  is  the  people  or  even 
the  courtiers   who  speak  ;  but  when  it 


for  it  would  have  been  the  only  reasoa 
which  could  have  decided  us  to  break 
our  word  with  the  Portuguese  Ambas- 
sador.' 

The  cardinal  reflected. 

However  skilful  may  be  the  diplo- 
macy of  statesmen,  that  of  tradesmen 
is  superior.  In  the  first  place,  the  dip- 
lomatist almost  always  negociates  with 
regard  to  property  not  in  his  possession; 
the  tradesman  holds  and  grasps  within 
his  clutches  the  object  which  excites 
the  purchaser's  curiosity  ;  to  buy  it  of 
him,  and  pay  him  dearly  for  it  is  al- 
most despoiling  him. 

M.  de  Rohan  seeing  that  he  was  in 
this  man's  power,  said  to  him: 

'  Well,  sir,  you  may  suppose,  if  yon 
will,  that  the  queen  desires  to  have 
your  necklace.' 

'  That  changes  every  thing,  monseig- 
neur. I  may  break  off  any  bargain, 
when  the  object  is  to  give  a  preference 
to  the  queen.' 

'  How  much  do  you  ask  for  the  neck- 
lace ?' 

1  Fifteen  hundred  thousand  Hvres.' 

'  And  how  will  you  arrange  the  pay- 
ment ?' 

'  Portugal  was  to  have  paid  me  a  sura 
on  account.  I  should  have  myself  tak- 
en the  necklace  to  Lisbon,  where  I  was 
to  be  paid  the  remainder  on  delivery.' 

'That  mode  of  payment  is  not  prac- 
ticable with  us,  M.  Boehmer;  you  ahull 
have  a  sum  on  account,  if  it  be  reason- 
able.' 

'  A  hundred  thousand  livres.' 

They  can  be  found.  For  the  re- 
mainder ?' 

•  Your  eminence  would  wish  for 
time  ?'  said  Boehmer,  'with  your  emi- 
nence's guarantee  every  thing  is  feas- 
ible. Only  that  delay  implies  a  loss ; 
for  please  to  observe  this,  monseigneur, 
in  an  affair  of  this  importance,  the  fig- 
ures increase  of  themselves  and  largely. 
The  interest  of  fifteen  hundred  thou- 


is  the  l-ing  who  speaks — '  sand  livres,  at  five  per  cent., amounts  to 

•  You  well  know  that  the  king  wished  !  seventy-five  thousand  livres,  and  five  per 
to  give  the  necklace  to  the  queen  ?'          !  cent,  is  ruinous  to  tradesmen.     Ten  per 

'  Undoubtedly  :  but  he  was  very  glad  ;  cenl.  is  the  least  possible  rate  they  can 
to  thnnli  I  lie  queen,  when  the  queen  re-  I  accept.' 
fused  ii.  'According  to  your  calculation,  that 

*  Come,  let  us  see  then  what  does  M.    would   be  one  hundred   and  fifty  thou- 
Boehmer  conclude  from  all  this  ?'  j  sand  livres.' 

•Tliiit   t!i«t   queen   would   b«  glad  to!      '  Why,  yes,  monseignour.' 
liavc  tiie  necklace,  without  appearing  to"]      •  Let'us  say  that  you  sell  ihe  necklace 
purchase  it.'  f  >r  sixteen    hundred    thousand    livres, 

'  Well,  then,  j-ou  are  mistaken,  sir.'  .  and  divido  the  payment,  of  tlio  fifteen 
said  the  cardinal,  '  that  is  not  :he  point  hundred  livres  rrmaiiiing  into  ihroe  »e- 
iu  question.'  pn  ride  instalment!!,  the  whole  to  fall  due 

'Taut  it-    unfortunate,   monseigneur,    wit:. in  H  your. 


MYSTERIES  OF  THE  COURT  OF  LOUIS  XVI. 


199 


4  Monseigutnir.  we  should  lose  fifty 
thousand  livres  by  that  bargain.' 

'  I  do  not  think  so,  sir.  Were  you 
to-morrow  to  receive  fifteen  hundred 
thousand  Jivres  you  would  be  much 
pii/.y.li'd  ;  a  jeweller  does  not  buy  un 
estate  of  that  value.' 

•  We  are  two,  monseigneur,  my  part- 
ner and  myself. 

'  That  ia  all  very  well,  but  no  matter ; 
it  would  be  much  more  convenient  to 
you  !o  receive  five  hundred  thousand 
livres  every  four  months,  that  is  to  say 
two  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  livres 
each.' 

•  Monseigneur  forgets  that  these  dia- 
monds  do    not   belong  to  us.     Oh  !  if 
they  were  ours  ulone  we  should  be  rich 
enough  not   to  trouble  ourselves  either 
as  to  the  terms  of  payment,  or  as  to  the 
employment   of    the    money    when    it 
comes  in.' 

'  To  whom  then  do  they  belong  ?' 

•To  ten  different  creditors  perhaps  ; 
w«!  bought  these  stones  separately.  We 
owe  for  one  of  thorn  at  Hamburgh,  an- 
other at  Naples,  one  at  Buenos  Ay  res, 
and  two  at  Moscow.  Our  creditors  are 
waiting  for  the  sale  of  the  necklace  to 
be  reimbursed.  The  profit  we  shall 
-  make  is  our  only  property ;  but  alas! 
monseigneur,  since  this  unlucky  neck- 
lace kas  been  for  sale,  that  is  to  nay  for 
two  whole  years,  we  have  already  lost 
two  hundred  thousand  livres  in  interest. 
Judge  then  if  we.  shall  make  any  proiit 
by  it.' 

M.  de  Rohan  interrupted  Boehmer, 

'  But  with  all  this,'  said  he,  '  I  have 
not  yet  seen  this  famous  necklace/ 

•That  is  true,  monseigneur,  I  will 
show  it  to  you,'  and  Boehmer,  with  all 
the  accustomed  precautions,  exhibited 
the  precious  jewel. 

•Superb."  exclaimed  the  cardinal 
touching  the  clasp  which  must  have 
pressed  upon  the  queen's  neck.  When 
he  had  pressed  his  finger  over  the  whole 
of  these  precious  stones  and  examined 
them  attentively, 

4  Is  it  a  bargain  ?'  said  he. 

'  Ye»,  monseigneur  ;  and  I  will  in- 
stantly go  to  the  embassy  to  withdraw 
my  promise.' 

•  I  did  not  believe   that  there  was  an 
ambassador  from  Portugal  in  Paris  at 
this  moment.' 

'  In  f<.ct,  monseigneur.  M.  do  Souza 
la  here  ;  he  came  incognito.' 

•To  n.  g.-tia.tj  \ms  atluir  ?'  askod  the 
cardinal  laughing. 

'  Yes,  imjiigeigneiir.' 

'  Oh  !  puor  Syuzu  !  I  know  him  well. 


Poor  Souza.'  .And  hi-  laughed  more 
heartily  thun  before. 

M.  Boehmer  thought  that  he  ought  to 
join  in  the  hilarity  of  hia  customer. 

They  laughed  for  some  time  over  tho 
jewel-box,  at  I  he  expense  of  Portugal. 

M.  de  Rohan  was  about  to  leave.  M. 
Boehmer  stopped  him, 

'  Will  monseigneur  be  pleased  to  tell 
me  how  this  affair  is  to  be  arranged  )' 
suid  he. 

4  Why,  simply  enough.' 

'  With  the  inteudant  of  your  emi- 
nence ?' 

*  No,  not  at  all ;  with  no  one  but  my- 
self— you   will  have  to  deal  only  with 
me.' 

*  And  when  ?' 
'  To-morrow.' 

'The  hundred  thousand  livres?' 
1 1  will  bring  them  here  to-morrow.' 
4  And  the  notes  ?' 

'  I  will  sign  them  here  to-morrow.' 
'  Nothing  can  be  better,  monseigneur.' 
'  And  as  you  are  a  man   of  secrets, 
Monsieur    Boehmer,     remember    well 
that  you  are  now  entrusted  with  one  of 
the  greatest  importance.' 

'  Monseigneur,  I  feel  it  to  be  so,  and 
I  will  deserve  your  confidence,  as  well 
as  that  of  her  majesty.'  added  he,  slily. 
M.  de  Rohan  blushed,  and  left  the 
room  somewhat  embarrassed,  but  happy 
as  every  man  ia  who  ruins  hiuiself  iu  a 
paroxysm  of  passion. 


CHAPTER  XLI1 


JEANNE,    A    PATRONESS 

Tux  cardinal  de  Rohan,  two  days  af- 
ter his  visit  to  Boehmer,  received  a  note 
couched  in  the  following  terms: 
~    '  His  eminence,  the  Cardinal  de  Ro- 
han, knows  where  he  will  sup  to-night.' 

•From  the  little  countess,' said  he, 
inhaling  the  perfume -of  the  note.  •! 
shall  be  there.1 

The  following  wen-  the  reasons  which 
had  induced  Madame  de  la  Mothe  to 
request  this  interview. 

Of  the  live  lackeys  which  his  emi- 
nence had  placed  in  her  service,  she 
hdd  remarked  one  with  Mack  hair,  ha 
/.el  eyes,  a  florid  complexion,  though 
.somewhat  approaching  to  tliu  bilious. 
Thus  t'>  her  keen  observation,  denoted 
an  active,  intelligent,  und  firm  organiza- 
tion. 

She  sent  fur  this  man,  and  in  a  qunr- 
Uour  she  obtained  through  hid 


200 


THE  QUEEN'S  NECKLACE;  OR,  THE 


docility  and  perspicacity,  ull  the  infor- 
mation she  required. 

This  iiinn  followed  the  cnrdinnl,  nnd 
reported  that  he  had  seen  his  eminence 
go  twice  in  two  days  to  the  house  of 
Messieurs  Boehmer  and  Bossange. 
.  This  was  enough  lor  Jeanne.  She 
knew  that  sucli  u  man  aa  M.  de  Rohan 
n«ivor  attempts  to  drive  a  bin-gain.  Such 
adroit  tradesmen  as  Boehmer  and  Bos- 
sange do  not  allow  a  good  customer  to 
leave  them  dissatisfied.  Tile  necklace 
must,  therefore  have  been  sold. 

Sold  by  Boehmer. 

Bought  by  M.  de  Rohan !  and  the  lat- 
tdr  hud  not  even  whispered  u  word  upon 
the  subject  to  his  confidant — to  his  mis- 
tress ! 

The  symptom  was  a  serious  one. 
Jeanne  knitted  her  brows,  pursed  up  her 
thin  lips,  and  wrote  the  note  we  huve 
seen  to  the  cardinal. 

M.  de  Rohan  came  in  the  evening. 
He  had  sent  on  before  him  a  bosket  of 
Tekuy  and  some  delicacies,  precisely  as 
be  would  have  done  had  he  been  going 
to  sup  at  la  (luimard's,  or  with  Made- 
moiselle Dungeville. 

This  shade  of  feeling  did  not  pass 
more  unobserved  by  Jeanne,  than  so 
m;uiy  otlierw  had  done;  she  avoided  hav- 
ing tiny  of  the  delicacies  the  cardinal 
bud  sent  served  at  the  table  ;  and  when 
the  servants  had  withdrawn,  and  they 
were  left  alone,  she,  with  u  certain  de- 
gree of  tenderness  in  her  manner,  thus 
commenced  the  conversation. 

'I  must  frankly  tellyou,  monseigneur,' 
said  she,  '  there  is  one  thing  which  has 
considerably  afflicted  me.' 

•  And   what  can   that  be,  countess  T 
cried  M.  de  Rohan,  with  that  affectation 
of  alarm  which  is  not  always  a  sure  sign 
of  being  really  alarmed. 

4  Well  then,  monseigneur,  the  cause 
of  my  affliction  is  'o  find,  not  that  you 
no  longer  love  me,  but  that  you  have 
never  loved  me.' 

•  Oli,  countess !  wtoat  in  it  you-  are 
Bay  in»  .'• 

4  L><>  not  excuse  yourself,  motiseig- 
Dtiur,  'twould  be  lost,  time.' 

4  For  me  !'  gallantly  said  the  cardinal. 
1  •  No,  lor  me,'  briefly  ivplied  the  coun- 
te«  ;  '  moreover,  do  not  alii  lot  yourself, 
monseigneur,  for  it  is  perfectly  indif- 
ferent to  me.1 

4  That  I  should  love  you  or  not  love 
you  '.'' 

•  Yes.' 

4  And  why  is  it  so  indifferent  to  you  !' 
4  Why  .'  in   good  truth,  because  I  do 
cot  love  you.' 


•  Countess,  do  you  know  thnt  what 
you  have  done  me  the  honor  to  say  to 
me,  is  by'  no  means  obliging.' 

4  It,  is  indeed  true  that  we  have  not 
commenced  by  saying  agreeable  things, 
but  there  is  one  fuel  of  which  we  should 
be  convinced.' 

•  What  fact?' 

4  That  I  have  never  loved  you  more,' 
monseigneur,  than  you  yourself  have 
loved  me.' 

4  Oh  !  ns  to  me,  you  must  not  say 
that !' cried  the  prince,  with  an  accent 
that  sounded  almost  like  truth.  4 1 
have  had  a  great  affection  for  you,-coun- 
tess.  Therefore,  please  not  to  put  ina 
up  nt  the  same  sign  with  yourself.* 

'  Corno  now,  monseigneur,  let  us  es- 
teem each  other  sufficiently  to  speak 
the  truth.' 

4  And  what  is  the  truth,  then  ?' 

4  There  is  between  us  a  tie,  which 
has  infinitely  more  power  than  love.' 

4  What  tie  ?' 

4  Interest.' 

4 Interest!  countess,  that  IB  too  de- 
grading.' 

•  Monseigneur.  I  will  say  to  you  as 
the    Norman    peasant   said    to  his  BOD 
about   the   gibbet,  4-  if  it  disgusts    you, 
there  is  no  occasion  for  you  to  disgust 
other    people    with    it."     Interest,,  de- 
grading,   inonseigueur,    how    you    run 
on  !' 

'Come,  now,  let  us  see,  countess ; 
let  us  si  ppose  that  we  are  interested  ; 
in  what  can  I  serve  your  interests,  aad 
you  mine  ? 

'  In  the  first  place,  monseigneur,  and 
before  any  thing  else,  I  have  a  strong 
desire  to  ask  you  one  question.' 

•  Do  HO,  countess.' 

•  You   have  shown  a  want  of  confid- 
ence in  me,  that  is  to  say  of  esteem." 

4 1 !  nnd  in  what,  if  you  please  ?'    . 

4  In  what!  can  you  deny  ihat  after 
having  skilfully  dragged  from  me  de- 
tuils,  which  I  was  almost  dying  to  com- 
municate— ' 

4  Upon  what,  countess  ?' 

4  Upon  the  taste  of  a  certain  great 
lady  for  a  certain  thing;  you  immedia- 
tely took  measures  to  satisfy  that  taste, 
but  without  mentioning  them  to  me.' 

'  Drag  details  from  you! — the  taste  of 
a  certain  great  lady  ! — satisfy  that  tasto' 
—  Why,  i:ynnte!-.s,  you  are  positively  an 
enigma,  a  peifert  Sphynx.  Ah  !  I  had 
certainly  seen  the  head  and  neck  of  a 
woman,  bin  I  h,.<l  not  yet  seen  ihc  liona 
daws.  It.  appears  ihut  you  are  about 
to  show  (hem  to  me,  well  bo  it  so.' 

4  By  no  means.     I  will  show  you  uo- 


MYSTERIES  OF  THE  COURT  OF  LOUIS  XVI. 


201 


thing  at  nil,  monseigneur,  seeing  that' 
you  have  no  longer  the  desire  to'see 
any  thing.  I  will  only  give  you,  purely 
and  plainly,  the  word  of  the  enigma. 
The  (It-tails  lire,  nil  that  happened  ;it 
Versailles;  the  taste  of  a  certain  lady 
is  the  diamonds;  that  certain,  lady  is 
the  queen,  and  the  satisfaction  given  to 
this  taste  of  the  queen,  is  the  pui chase 
whirl)  you  made  yesterday  of  Messieurs 
Boehmer  and  Bossonge,  of  their  cele- 
brated necklace.' 

'  Countess  !'  murmured  the  cardinal, 
pale  and  trembling. 

'Tell  me  now,  why  do  you  look  nt 
me  thus,  with  such  an  air  of  alarm  .' 
Did  you  not  yesterday  enter  into  an 
agreement  with  those  jewellers  at  their 
house  on  the  Quay  de  1'Ecole  ?' 

A  Rohan  never  utters  11  falsehood, 
even  to  a  woman — the  cardinal  uttered 
not  a  word. 

And  as  he  was  about  to  blush,  a  spe- 
cies of  painful  feeling  for  which  a  man 
never  forgives  the  woman  who  occa- 
sions it,  Jeanne  hastened  to  take  his 
hand. 

'  Your  pardon,  prince,'  said  she,  *  I 
was  anxious  to  tell  you  in  what  you  had 
deceived  yourself  with  regard  to  me. — 
You  thought  me  stupid  and  spiteful.' 

'Oh  !  oh  '.  countess.' 

'In  short — ' 

'  Not  a  word  more  ;  allow  me  to  speak 
in  my  turn.  I  shall  perhaps  convince 
you,  for  from  this  moment  I  compre- 
hend with  whom  I  have  to  deal.  I 
thought  I  bad  found  in  you  a  pretty  wo- 
man, a  woman  of  much  talent,  a  charm- 
ing mistress ;  but  you  are  .superior  to 
all  this.  Listen  to  me.' 

Jeanne  drew  nearer  to  the  cardinal, 
leaving  her  hand  in  both  his. 

'  You  have  been  pleased  to  become 
ray  mistress,  my  friend,  without  loving 
me.  You  told  me  so,  yourself,'  added 
M.  de  Rohan. 

'And  I  repeat  itto  you,'  cried  Madame 
de  la  Mdthe. 

'  You  had  some  object  in  view,  then?' 

'  Undoubtedly.' 

'And  that  object,  countess.' 

'  Is  it  necessary  that  I  should  explain 
it  to  you  ?' 

'No;  I  can  well  divine  it;  you  wis'i 
to  make  my  fortune.  Is  it  not  certain 
that  once  my  fortune  assured,  my  first 
care  will  be  to  secure  yours.  Is  not  that 
the  case,  or  can  I  have  deceived  my- 
self?' 

•You  have  not  deceived  yourself, 
monseigneur,  and  that  is  really  the  case. 
Only  believe,  and  I  say  it  without  cir- 


cumlocution, I  have  not  pursued  that 
object  amid  antipathies  mid  repugnance 

tin?  road  lias  been  a  pleasant  one,.' 

'  You  are  an  amiable  woman,  coun- 
tess, and  tospei.k  even  on  business  with 
you,  is  perfectly  delightful.  I  wiis say- 
ing then,  thai  you  had  lightly  guessed. 
You  know  that  I  entertain  tor  some  one 
a  most  respectful  attachment  .'' 

'  I  perceived  that  at  the  opera  bull, 
prince.' 

'That  attachment  will  never  be  reci- 
procated. Oh  !  may  (*od  preserve  mo 
from  over  believing  it.' 

'Why,'  cried  the  countess,  'a  wo- 
man is  not  always  a  queen,  and  you 
are,  as  I  conceive,  the  equal  in  all  re- 
spects of  Cardinal  Mnxarin.' 

'  He  was  a  very  handsome  man,  also,' 
said  M.  de  Rohan,  laughing. 

4  And  an  excellent  Prime  Minister,' 
rejoined  Jeanne  with  the  greatest cal m- 
ness. 

«  Countess,  with  you  it  is  a  uselesa 
trouble  to  think;  it  is  twenty  times 
more  than  superabundant  to  utter  ones 
thoughts.  You  think  and  speak  also  for 
your  friends.  Yes,  my  views  are  to 
become  prime  minister.  Every  thing 
urges  me  to  that  point ;  my  itirth,  my 
experience  in  political  matters  ;  a  cer- 
tain kind  consideration  evinced  towards 
me  by  foreign  courts;  the  great  sym- 
pathy which  the  people  of  France  have 
shown  me.' 

'  All,  in  short,  with  but  one  excep- 
tion ?' 

4  Except,  you  would  say,  but  one  re- 
pugnance.' 

4  Yes,  on  the  part  of  the  quaen,  and 
that  repugnance  is  the  real  obstacle. 
What  the  queen  likes,  the  king  must 
also  like  in  the  eud  ;  whatever  she  dis- 
likes, he  hates  by  anticipation.' 

4  And  she  hates  me  T     '  Oh ." 

4  Let  us  be  frank,  we  must  not  do 
things  by  halves,  countess.' 

4  Well  then,  monseigneur,  in  truth 
the  queen  does  not  like  you.' 

'  Then  1  am  lost !  uo  necklace  in  the 
world  could  save  me.' 

'  And  there  it1  is,  prince,  that  you 
may,  perchance,  be  mistaken.' 

'The  necklace  is  bought.' 

'  At  all  events  the  queen  will  see,  that 
if  she  loves  you  not,  you  love  her.' 

'  Oh  !  countess — ' 

4  Y'ou  know,  monseignpur,  that  wo 
have  agreed  to  call  things  by  their  pro- 
per names.' 

4  Be  it  so  ;  you  say,  then,  thnt  you  do 
not  despair  of  seeing  mo,  some  day, 
prime  uiiuister  ?' 


202 


THE  QUEEN'S  NECKLACE;  OR,  THE 


1 1  nm  certnin  of  it.' 

1  I  should  be  angry  with  myself  did  I 
not  ask  you,  what  is  your  ambition  ?' 

4 1  will  tell  you  that,  prince,  when 
you  shall  be  in  a  position  lo  satisfy  it.' 

4  That,  is  speaking  to  the  point.  Well, 
on  thiit  diiy  I  shall  expect  you.' 

'Thank  you;  but  now  we'll  finish 
our  supper.' 

The  cardinal  took  Jeanne's  hand  and 
pressed  it  as  Jeanne  had,  some  days 
previously,  so  ardently  desired  it  should 
be  pressed,  but  that  time  had  gone  by. 

She  withdrew  her  hand, 

'Well,  countess  ?' 

4  Let  us  continue  our  supper,  I  tell 
you,  monseigneur.' 

4  But  I  have  no  appetite.' 

'Then  we  will  talk.' 

1  But  I  have  nothing  mote  to  say.' 

'  Then  we  had  better  say.  good  night.' 

•  And  ihis,'  said  he.  '  is  what  you  call 
our  alliance.  You  dismiss  me  ?' 

4  In  order  to  belong  more  truly  to  each 
other,'  said  she,  '  let  us  be  both  com- 
pletely masters  of  ourselves.' 

'You  are  again  right,  countess;   par- 
don me  for  having  once  more  on  this  oc 
cosion  been    mistaken    with   regard  to 
you.     1    Hwear   to   you   it  shall  be  the 
la^-t.' 

And  he  again  took  her  hand  and 
kissed  it  so  respectfully  that  he  saw  not 
the  mocking  diabolical  smile  of  the 
countess  at  the  moment  of  his  uttering 
these  words. 

4 1  swear  it  shall  be  the  last  time  I 
shall  be  mistaken  with  regard  to  you.' 

Jeanne  rose  and  accompanied  the 
prince  to  the  ante-chamber.  There  he 
paused  and  in  a  whisper  said  : 

4  And  what  is  to  be  done  uext,  coun- 
tess ?' 

4  That  is  plain  enough.1 

4  What  am  I  to  do?' 

'Nothing  ;  wait  for  me.' 

'  And  you  will  go  ?' 

4  To  Versailles.' 

•When?' 

4  To-morrow.' 

'  And  I  shall  have  nn  nnswer?' 

1  Immediately  on  my  return.' 

'  Well  then,  my  patroness,  I  abandon 
all  to  your  good  guidance.' 

'  Lravf  all  to  me.' 

And  she  retired  to  her  own  apart- 
ment, went  to  bed,  ami  gay.ing  vaguely 
at  thf  beautiful  marble  Eudymiou,  ex- 
pecting his  Diana. 

'  Decidedly,  liberty  is  after  all  most 
desirublo,'  murmured  Jouniio. 


CHAPTER  XLIII. 


E   PATRONISE  D, 

Mistress  of  such  a  secret,  with  so 
rich  and  brilliant  a  perspective,  being 
sustained  by  two  such  powerful  support- 
ers, Jeanne  fel:  herself  strong  enough 
to  move  even  the  world  itself. 

She  allowed  herself  a  fortnight's  time 
before  she  should  be  able  to  enjoy  fully 
the  delicious  flavor  of  the  grapes  which 
fortune  had  thus  suspended  above  her 
head 

To  appear  at  court,  no  longer  as  a 
solicitress,  no  longer  as  the  poor  mendi- 
cant who  had  been  relieved  by  Madame 
de  Boulainvilliers,  but  as  a  d'escendant 
of  the  Valois,  possessed  of  an  income  of 
a  hundred  thousand  livres,  with  a  hus- 
band who  would  be  duke  and  peer  of 
France;  to  be  called  the  queen's  favo- 
rite, and  in  those  days  of  intrigue  and 
commotion,  to  govern  the  state,  by  gov- 
erning the  king  through  Marie  Antoi- 
nette. Such  was  in  short  the  panora- 
ma which  unrolled  itself  before  the  in- 
exhaustible imagination  of  the  Countess 
de  la  Mothe. 

As  soon  as  it  was  daylight  ?he  hasten- 
ed to  Versailles.  She  had  no  letter  ap- 
pointing an  audience,  but  her  faith  in 
her  good  fortune  had  become  so  strong, 
that  Jeanne  doubted  not  that  etiquette 
would  give  way  before  her  wishes. 

And  she  was  right  ;  all  the  oflicioua 
persons  about  the  court,  so  anxious  to 
guess  evfMi  the  tastes  of  their  sovereign, 
had  already  remarked  the  great  pleasure 
which  Marie  Antoinette  enjoyed  in  the 
society  of  the  pretty  countess. 

This  WHS  sufficient  ;  for  an  intelli- 
gent usher,  anxious  for  promotion,  plac- 
ed himseli  in  the  path  by  which  th« 
queen  returned  from  morning  mass  in 
the  chapel,  and  there,  as  if  by  chance, 
pronounced  the  following  words  to  one 
of  the  gentlemen  in  waiting  on  the 
queen  : 

'  Pray,  sir.  what  can  be  done  for  the 
Countess  de  hi  Mothe  Valois,  who  has 
no  letter  of  audience  ?' 

The  queen  was  conversing  with  Ma- 
dame. de  la  Lamballe  ;  Jeanne's  name 
being  adroitly  uttered  by  the  usher  so 
as  to  cutch  her  ear,  stopped  the  conver- 
sation, /'or  the  queen  turned  round, 

4  Did  not  some  one  say,'  she  inquired, 
4  that  Madame  do  la  Mothn  Vuloia  la 
hcr<-  ?' 

4  1  bc.lieve  so,  your  majesty,'  replied 
tho  gentleman. 

4  And  who  was  it  that  said  so  T' 


MYSTERIES  OF  THE  COURT  OF  LOUIS  XVI. 


20J 


•This  unher,  madam.' 

The  usher  modestly  bowed. 

'  I  will  receive  Madame  In  Mothe 
Valois,'  said  the  queeu,  as  .she  passed 
on  ;  and  then,  us  she  \%as  entering  her 
npartmenld,  '  You  will  let  her  be  con- 
ducted to  the  bat! ling  cabinet,'  she  ad- 
ded. And  she  went  on. 

Jeanne,  to  whom  this  man  related 
what  he  had  just  done,  immediately 
took  out  her  purse,  but' the  man  stop- 
ped her  with  u.  smile. 

'  My  lady  countees,'  said  he,  '  pray 
allow  this  debt  to  accumulate  ;  you  will 
eoori  be  in  a  position  to  repay  it  with 
better  interest.' 

Jeanne  replaced  her  money  in  her 
pocket. 

'  You  are  right,  my  friend — I  thank 
you.' 

'  And  why,'  said  she  to  herself, 
'should  I  not  patronize  tin  usher  who 
has  patronized  me  ?  I  do  as  much  for 
a  cardinal.' 

Jeanne  soon  found  herself  in  the  pre- 
sence of  her  sovereign. 

Marie  Antoinette  was  very  grave, 
and  in  appearance  little  disposed  to  con- 
versation, perhaps  from  the  very  feel- 
ing that  she  had  too  much  favored  the 
countess  by  the  granting  this  unexpect- 
ed reception. 

•  It  is  probable,'  thought  M.  de  Ro- 
han's friend,  'that  the  queen  imagines 
I  have   come   again  to  beg.     Uefore  1 
shall   have   uttered    twenty  words   she 
will  either  have    unbent  her  brows  or 
will  have  had  me  driven  from  her  doors.' 

'Madam,'  said  the  queen,  'I  have 
not  yet  had  an  opportunity  of  speaking 
to  the  i\ing.' 

'  Ah  !  madam,'  replied  Jeanne,  'your 
majesty  has  already  been  but  too  good 
to  me,  and  I  expect  nothing  further.  I 
cumr " 

'  What,  is  it  that  you  come  for  ?'  said 
the  queen,  who  was  very  skilful  in 
catching  every  transition  cf  manner. 
'  You  have  not  requested  an  audience  ; 
there  is  something  perhaps  of  urgent 
neoessily  for  you — 

'Urgent!  yes,  madam;  but  win  re- 
gard to  myself — no.' 

•  J'oi    me,  then.     Well,  countess,   let 
U3  hear,  speak  on.' 

And  the  .jiicen  led  Jeanne  into  the 
bath-room,  whore  her  women  were 
waiting  for  her. 

The  countess,  who  stiw  so  many  per- 
ilous around  the  queen,  did  not  venture 
to  commence  a  conversation. 

The  queen  having  gut  into  the  bath, 
•eot  uvvuy  her  women, 


'  Madam,' said  Jeanne,  '  your  rnaj«-Htv 
(  will  perceive  that  I  am  much  cmbur- 
•  russed.' 

'  And  why  so?  did  I  not  lull  you ' 

'  I  believe  I  told  your  majesty  the 
very  gracious  manner  in  which  the 
Cardinal  de  Rohan  has  obliged  me.' 

The  queen  frowned. 

'I  do  not.  remember,'  she  said. 

'  I  believed — ' 

'  No  matter — say  on.' 

•Well  then,  madam,  the  day  before 
yesterday  his  Eminence  did  me  the 
honor  to  pay  me  a  visit.'  , 

'Ah." 

•  It  was  for  u  good  work  which  I  have 
undertaken.' 

'  Very  well,  counters,  very  well ;  I 
will  also  contribute  to  your  good  work.' 

'  Your  majesty  is  mistaken.  I  have 
had  the  honor  to  observe  that  I  do  not 
ask  for  anything.  M.  d«  Rohan,  as  U 
usual  with  him,  spoke  to  me  of  the 
goodness  of  the  queen,  of  her  inex- 
haustible benevolence.' 

'  And  requested  that  I  should  protect 
his  protegees.' 

'  He  did  so,  your  majesty,  in  the  first 
instance.' 

'  1  will  do  so,  not  for  the  saku  01'  the 
cardinal,  but  for  that  of  persons  in  dis- 
tress, whom  I  always  endeavor  to  as- 
sist, come  whence  they  may.  Only, 
tell  his  Eminence,  that  1  am  somewhat 
straightened.' 

-  !  that  is  precisely  what  I  stated 
to  him,  and  that  is  the  embarrassment 
of  which  I  spoJie  just  now.' 

•  \h!  ah  " 

'I  represented  to  the  cardinal,  the 
fervent  charity  which  overflows  your 
majesty's  heart  whenever  you  are  in- 
fiirmed  of  the' distress  of  any  one,  be 
they  who  they  may  ;  the  generosity 
which  is  for  ever  emptying  the  queen's 
purse,  always  too  limited  for  her  d«- 
sires." 

'Well!  well." 

'  See  now,  unouseigneur,'  said  I  to 
him,  'her  majesty  renders  herself  a 
slave  to  her  own  kind  heart.  She  sac- 
rifices herself  for  the  good 'of  the  poor. 
The  good  she  does  produce.-  evil  to  her- 
sc'.f.  And  therefore  I  accused  myself.' 

'  How  could  that  be,  countess  .''  said 
the  queen,  who  WHS  listening  attentive- 
ly, whether  it  \vu.s  lluii  Jeanne  had  Mat- 
tered her  by  tlms  alluding  t<»  her  foible\ 
or  that  tiie  "superior  perspicacity  of  Ma- 
rie Antoinette  had  discerned  from  the 
length  of  this  preamble,  that  something 
de.'-|>)y  interesting  to  hem.  If  must  result 
from  so  much  preuur.iliou. 


204 


THE  QUEEN'S  NECKLACE;  OR,  THE 


4 1  told  him  that  your  majesty  had 
given  me  a  large  sum  only  a  few  days 
before.  And  that  during  two  years  at 
least,  a  thousand  instances  of  the  same 
nature  had  occurred ;  that  had  the  queen 
been  less  feeling,  less  generous,  she 
would  have  had  two  millions  in  her  cof- 
fers; in  which  case,  there  would  have 
been  no  reason  to  forego  the  purchase  of 
the  beautiful  diamond  necklace,  so  no- 
bly, so  courageously,  and  permit  me  to 
add,  madam,  so  unnecessarily  refused.' 

The  queen  blushed  and  looked  fixed- 
ly at  Jeanne.  The  pith  of  tue  whole 
matter  was  evidently  in  the  last  sen- 
tence. ,  .Was  there  any  snare  in  all 
this?  of  \vas  it  merely  adulation? — 
This  being  once  admitted,  there  could 
not  fail  to  be  some  danger  to  be  appre- 
hended. But  her  majesty  on  observ- 
ing attentively  Jeanne's  features,  saw 
them  impressed  with  so  much  sweet- 
ness, so  much  candid  kindness,  so  much 
pure  trpth,  that  there  was  nothing  in 
such  a  countenance  which  could,  for  a 
moment,  induce  a  suspicion  of  either 
perfidy  or  adulation. 

And  as  thequeen  herself  possessed  a 
soul  replete  with  truly  generous  feel- 
ings, and  as  in  generosity  there  is  al- 
ways strength,  iu  strength  always  soli- 
dity of  truth,  Marie  Antoinette  heaving 
a  sigh,  said, 

'  Yes,  the  necklace  is  beautiful;  or 
rather  I  mean  to  say  was  beautiful; 
and  therefore  I  am  pleused  that  a  woman 
of  taste  should  praise  rne  for  having  re- 
jected it.' 

•  If  you  knew,  madam,'  exclaimed 
Jeanne,  adroitly  interrupting  the  queeu, 
*  how  we  at  last  learn  to  appreciate  the 
feelings  of  persons,  when  we,  ourselv-s 
feel  an  interest  for  them  whom  those 
persons  love.' 

'  What  do  you  mean  ?' 

1  I  mean  to  say,  madam,  thiit  on  being 
informed  of  the  heroic  sacrifice  your 
majv'.sty  had  made  with  regard  to  the 
ntscUi.ico,  1  MIW  M.  de  Rohan  turn  pale.' 

•Turn  pule  !' 

1  in  an  instant,  his  eyes  were  filled 
with  t^irs.  1  know  not,  madam,  whe- 
ther it  be  true  that  M.  de  Rohan  is  a 
handsome  man,  or  an  accomplished  no- 
fclenmn,  as  many  pretend  ho  is.  All 
that  1  know  is,  that  his  features  at  thnt 
moment,  ;.nimated  by  the.  feelings  ol'his 
soul,  and  furrowed  by  tears  excited  by 
your  generous  disinterestedness,  what 
do  I  say,  by  your  sublime  abnegation, 
thoso  features  can  never  bo  cHiicud  from 
my  remembrance.' 

The  quuun  lor  a  moment  stoppud  the 


water  which  wns  flowing  from  the  gild- 
ed head  of  u  swan,  suspended  over  the 
marble  bath. 

•  Well  then,  countess,  as  M.   de  R<v 
linn  appeared  to  you  so  handsome  and 
accomplished,   as   you   have  just   now 
said,  I  should   advise  you   not  to  allow, 
him  to  perceive  you  think  so.     He    is  a 
worldly  prelate,  a  pastor  who  seines  on 
the  lamb,  as  much  tor  himself  as  for  th» 
Lord.' 

•  Oh  !   madam.' 

4  Well !  what  is  there  strange  in  that. ; 
do  I  caluminiate  him  ?  Is  not  that  his 
reputation  ?  Does  he  not  even  make  a 
boast  of  it  1  Do  you  not  see  him,  evea 
when  performing  religious  ceremonies, 
holding  up  his  well-formed  hands,  they, 
are  handsome  it  is  true,  in  order  to 
make  them  appear  still  whiter,  and  on 
those  hands  sparkling  with  the  pastoral 
ring,  the  devotees  fix  their  eyes,  even 
more  brilliant  than  the  cardinal's  dia- 
mond ?' 

Jeanne  curtseyed. 

4  The  cardinal's  trophies,'  continued 
the  queen,  angrily,  4  are  numerous. — 
Some  of  them,  even,  have  been  the 
cause  of  scandal.  The  cardinal  is  a 
lover,  like  those  of  the  Fronde.  Let 
those  who  please,  praise  him.  I  ant 
not  one  of  them.' 

4  Well,  then,  madam,'  t-aid  Jeanne, 
whom  this  familiarity  had  completely 
restored-  to  confidence,  as  well  as  tha 
physical  position  of  the  queen  at  that 
moment;  4I  do  not  know  whether  the 
cardinal  was  thinking  of  these  devotees 
while  he  was  speaking  to  me  so  fervent- 
ly of  the  virtues  of  your  majesty,  but 
this  I  know,  that  his  fine  hands,  instead 
of  being  held  in  the  air,  were  pressed 
upon  his  heart.' 

The  queen  shook  her  head,  with  a 
constrained  laugh. 

1  Ho  !  ho  !'  thought  Jeanne,  4  are 
things  going  even  better  than  wo  could 
have  anticipated ;  is  mortification  be- 
coming our  auxiliary  ?  Oh,  our  work 
will  then  be  but  too  easy.' 

The  queen  quickly  resumed  her  no- 
ble and  unconcerned  air. 

1  Continue,'  she  said. 

'  Your  majesty  freezes  me  ;  this  mo- 
desty, which  repels  even  praise ' 

1  That  of  the  cardinal  ?     Oh,  yes  !' 

1  Rut  why  so,  madam  ?' 

1  Because  I  doubt  its  sincerity,  coun- 
tess.' 

1  It  belongs  not  to  me,'  replied  .Jean- 
ne, with  the  most  profound  respect,  4  to 
defend  him,  who  haa  been  unfortunate 
enough  tu  have  incurred  your  majesty's 


MYSTERIES  OF  THE  COURT  OF  LOUIS  XVI. 


20.' 


displeasure  ;  no  one  can  for  n  moment 
dciuht  he  must  be  guilty,  siuce  ho  hna 
displeased  the  queen. ' 

4  M.  de  Rohan  has  not  displeased  me, 
lie  tins  offended  me.  But  I  nin  n  queen 
and  a  Christian,  and  consequently  doubly 
inclined  to  forget  offences.' 

And  the  queen  sjiid  these  words  with 
thnt  majestic  kindness  which  belonged 
only  to  herself. 

Jennne  remained  silent. 

4  You  say  nothing  more.' 

»  Your  majesty  would  suspect  me  ;  I 
should  incur  disgrace — your  reprehen- 
sion, should  I  express  nn  opinion  in  op- 
position to  that  of  your  majesty.' 

'  Your  opinion  is  then  contrary  to 
mine  wilh  regard  to  tire  cardinal  ?' 

'  Diametrically,  madam.' 

•You  would  not  speak  thus  were  you 
to  be  informed  of  that  which  Prince 
Louis  hag  done  against  me.' 

*  I  know  only  that  which  I  have  seen 
him  do  for  the  service  of  your  majesty.' 

'Some  gallantries?' 

Jeanne  bowed. 

•Some  courtesies,  wishes,  compli- 
ments,' continued  the  queen. 

Jeanne  made  no  reply. 

'You  have  a  very  earnest  friendship 
for  M.  de  Rohan,  countess;  I  will  not 
again  attack  him  before  you.' 

And  the  queen  laughed. 

4  Madam,'  replied  Jeanne,  •  I  would 
rather  endure  your  majesty's  anger  than 
your  raillery.  The  feeling  M.  de  Ro- 
han entertains  towards  your  majesty  is 
on«  BO  eminentry  respectful,  that  I  feel 
assured,  did  he  see  the  queen  deriding 
him,  it  would  kill  him.1 

'  Oh!  oh!  he  has  much  changed,  then.' 

'  But  your  majesty  did  me  the  honor 
to  tell  me,  only  the  other  day,  that  for 
more  thun  ten  years  past  M.  de  Rohan 
was  passionately ' 

'I  was  jesting  then,' replied  the  queen, 
frowningly. 

Jeanne,  thus  reduced  to  silence,  ap- 
peared to  the  queen  to  have  given  up 
the  contest,  but  Marie  Antoinette  was 
mistaken.  To  those  women  who  com- 
bine the  nature  of  the  tiger  mid  the  ser- 
pent, the  moment;  of  their  recoiling  ia 
always  the  prelude  to  a  fresh  attack,  it 
concentrated  repose  precedes  their 
spring. 

•You  were    speaking   of  those    dia- 
1  mends,'      imprudently     observed     the 
'queen,   'acknowledge    that    you    have 
keen  thinking  of  them.' 

'Night  and  day,  madam,'  cried 
•Jeanne,  'with  the  joy  of  a  general  who, 
•when  on  the  field  of  battle,  necs  uis 


enemy  commit  Home  decisive  error, 
'they  are  so  beautiful,  they  would  so 
much  become  your  majesty.' 

'  How  so  ?' 

'  Yes,  madam,  yes.  I  say  become 
your  majesty.1 

'  Hnl  they  are  sold  !' 

4  Yes,  they  are  sold.' 

'To  the  Portuguese  ambassador?* 

Jeanne  gently  shook  her  head. 

4No."  cried  the  queen  joyfully. 

'No,  madam.' 

4 To  whom  then?' 

4  M.  de  Rohan  has  bought  them.' 

The  queen  sprang  forwards-hut  sud- 
denly looking  coldvagain  : 

'  Oh  !'  she  exclaimed. 

'  Permit  me  to  tell  you,  madam,'  said 
Jeanne  with,  fervent  and  impassioned 
eloquence,  '  M.  de  Rohan's  conduct  in 
this  instance  lias  been  superb;  the  im- 
pulse was  most  praiseworthy;  a  soul 
like  that  of  your  majesty  cannot  fail  to 
sympathi/.e  with  all  that  is  good  and 
feeling.  M.  de  Rohan  had  scarcely 
been  informed,  and  I  acknowledge  that 
it  was  by  me,  of  the  temporary  incon- 
venience your  majesty  was  suffering  un- 
der, than  he  exclaimed,  44  How !  the 
queen  of  France  denies  herself  that 
which  a  receiver-general's  wife  would 
not  deny  herself?  How  !  the  queen 
may  some  day  be  exposed  to  the  annoy- 
ance of  seeing  Madame  Necker  decked 
out  in  these  diamonds  ?"  M.  de  Ro- 
han was  then  ignorant  as  to  the  Portu- 
guese ambassador  having  bargained  for 
them.  I  informed  him  of  it.  His  in- 
dignation was  redoubled.  4l  It  is,"  said 
he,  l4  no  longer  a  mere  question  of  doing 
that  which  might  please  the  queen  ;  it 
is  a  question  of  royal  dignity.  I  know 
the  spirit  that  prevails  in  all  these  fo- 
reign courts, — their  vanity,  their  osten- 
tation ;  they  will  laugh  at  the  queen  of 
France  for  not  having  wherewithal  to 
satisfy  a  legitimate  desire  ;  and  shall  I 
suffer  this  mockery  of  the  queen  of 
France  !  No,  never,"  and  he  quitted 
me  abruptly.  One  hour  afterwards  I 
knew  that  he  had  purchased  the  dia- 
monds.' 

'Fifteen  hundred  thousand  livres?' 

'Sixteen  hundred  thousand  livres.' 

'And  what  was  his  intention  in  pur- 
chasing them  .'' 

'That  since  they  could  not  belong  to 
your  majesty,  they  should  not  belong  to 
any  other  woman.' 

4  And  are  you  sure  that  it  is  not  to 
present  them  to  some  mistress  that  M. 
de  Rohan  purchased  them/' 

'  (  am  sure  that  it  is  for  the  purpose 


206 


THE  QUEEN'S  NECKLACE;    OR,  THE 


of  annihilating  them  rather  than  that 
they  should  adorn  any  other  neck  than 
tlmt  of  the  queen.' 

Marie  Antoinette  meditated  ;  and  her 
countenance  reflected,  und  without  a 
veil,  all  that,,was  passing  in  her  soul. 

4  That  which  M.  do  Rohan  has  done, 
Is  well,'  said  she,  '  it.  is  a  noble  action, 
and  evinces  delicate  devoted  ness.' 

Jeanne  ardently  drank  in  these 
words 

•  You   will,   therefore,  thank   M.  de 
Rohiin,'  continued  the  queen. 

4  Oh  !  yea,  madam.' 

'  You,  ..will  add  that  M.  de  Rohan's 
friendship  is  now  proved  to  me,  and 
that  I  rffc  an  honest  man,  as  the  Empress 
Catherine  says,  '  I  accept  every  thing 
from  friendship,  on  the  condition  of  re- 
turn. Therefore,  I  accept,  not  the  gift 
of  M.  de  Rohan  —  ' 

'  What,  then  ?' 

'Bui  his  advance  —  M.  de  Rohan  has 
been  pleased  to  advance  his  money  or 
his  credit,  i  unorder  to  do  mo  pleasure. 
I  will  reimburse  him.  Boehmer  want- 
ed ready  money,  I  believe  ?' 

'  Yes,  madam.' 

'  How  much  :  two  hundred  thousand 
livres  ?' 

•  Two   hundred    and    fifty    thousand 
livres.' 

•That  is  just  the  quarter's  pension 
which  the  king  allows  me.  It  has  been 
sent  to  me  this  morning,  in  advance,  it 
is  true,  but  in  short  it  was  sent  to  me.' 

The  queen  rang  hastily  for  her  wo- 
men, who  dressed  her,  after  having 
first  wrapped  hnr  up  in  hot  cumbric 
of  the  finest  texture. 

She  then  pioceeded  to  her  own  room  : 
when  oncn  more  alone  with  Jeanne,  she 
Baid  to  her  : 

1  lie  wo  good  as  to  open  that  drawer.' 

'The  first?' 

1  No.  the  second  —  you  -cc  a  pocket- 
book  ?' 

'  Mere  it  is,  madam.' 

•There  are  two  hundred  and  fitty 
ihousaud  livres  in  it  —  count,  them.' 

•  •,  I'boyed. 
.-•    !  In  in     to    the     cardinal,    and 


arrange    matters 
this  manner. 


Tell  him  that  I   will 


M>  ;is   ID    pay   him 
The  interest  can   be 


ing  a  friend  who,  with  great  delicacy* 
has  served  me.' 

She  again  paused. 

•And  also  a  friend  who  has  divined 
my  wishes,'  pursued  the  queen,  hold- 
ing out  her  hand  to  the  countess,  who 
sei/,ed  it  eagerly. 

And  then  as  she  was  about  to  leave 
the  room,  after  having  again  hesitated  : 

'  Countess,'  said  she,  in  a  tone,  as  if 
alarmed  at  what  she  was  about  lo  say; 
'you  will  inform  M.  de  Rohan  that  he 
will  be  welcome  at  Versailles,  that  I 
have  thanks  to  offer  him.' 

Jeanne  rushed  out  of  the  room,  not 
only  intoxicated,  but  mad  with  joy  and 
satisfied  pride. 

She  grasped  the  bank  notes,  as  a  vul- 
ture would  have  grasped  its  stolen  prey. 


gulated  afii-rwardb.      In  thi*  w;:>  I  shall!  mnined  pitiless. 


CHAPTER  XLIV. 
THE  QUEEN'S  POCKET-BOOK. 

It  might  have  been  tnought  that  the 
horses  which  bore  away  Jeanne  de  Va« 
lois  from  Versailles,  felt  the  importance 
of  the  fortu;  e  with  which  she  was  en- 
trusted as  deeply  as  did  Jeanne  herself. 

If  ever  horses  eager  to  gain  a  prize 
flew  along  the  race  course,  they  were 
the  two  \oor  horses  attached  to  her 
hired  carriage.  , 

Their  coachman,  stimulated  by  the 
countess,  made  them  believe  that  they 
were  of  the  race  of  the  quadiupeds  of 
Klis,  whose  master  was  to  gain  two  ta- 
lents of  gold,  and  a  triple  feed  of  pearl- 
barley  for  themselves. 

The  cardinal  had  not  gone  out  when 
Madame  de  la  Mothe  reached  hishous6, 
she  entered  it  at  once,  and  publicly 
among  all  his  servants. 

She  caused  herself  to  be  announced 
more  ceremoniously  than  she  hud  done 
to  the  queen. 

'  You  come  from  Versailles  ?'  said  he 
inquiringly. 

'  Yes  moils*  igm-ur.' 

He  1<  'wr  intently  ;  she  was 

impenetrable. 

She  saw  that  h«  shuddered,  that  he 
was  sorrowful  and  agitated,  but.  she  re- 


have  the  necklace  which  HO  much  pleas 
ed  me;  and  if  I  iiirunvemeiic.  myself 
in  paying  for  it,  i  -<h,i!l  not.  at  all  events, 
inconvenience  the  king.' 

She  reflected  for  a  minute. 

'  And    I    shall   by   this  have   gained,' 
continued  she,  •  the   assurance  of  iiav- 


Well  !'  cried  the  cardinal. 

-  Well !  tell  me,  monseigneur,  what 
i-  it  you  dusire.  Speak  a  little,  that  I 
may  not  have  to  reproach  myself  too 
much." 

'  Ah  !  countess,  you  nay  that  with  an 
air — ' 


MYSTERIES  OF  THE  COURT  OF  LOUIS  XVI. 


207 


4  Most  sorrowful,  is  it  not?' 

•  Killing.' 

•You  wished  that  I  should  see  the 
queen  ?' 

•  Yes.' 

'1  hnvo  seen  her.' 

•Ah." 

'You  wished  thnt  she  should  nllow 
rno  to  spenk  to  her  of  you  ;  she  who 
hud  Severn  I  limes  evinced  her  aversion 
to  you,  and  her  displeasure  even  when 
she  heard  your  mime  pronounced  be- 
fore her?' 

'  I  clearly  see,  that  had  I  formed  such 
a  desire.  I  must  for  ev^r  renounce  its 
being  fulfilled.' 

•  Not  BO  ;  the  queen  spoke  of  you  to 
me.' 

4  Or,  rather,  you  were  kind  enough  to 

speak  to  her  of  me.' 
4  Thai  is  true.' 

4  And  her  majesty  listened  to  youT 
'  That  requires  an  explanation.' 
'  Do  txpt  say  another  word,  countess ; 

I  eee  at  once  the  great  repugnance  her 

majesty  evinced — 

4  Why,  not  so  very  great;  I  ventured 

eren  to  mention  the  necklace,' 

*  Did   you   dare    to    say  that   I  had 
thought — ' 

4  Of  purchasing  it  for  her  ?     Yes.' 

•Oh!  countess,  that  was  sublimely 
generous  in  you — and  she  listened  to 
you  ?' 

4  Why — yes.' 

4  You  told  her  that  I  offered  those 
diamonds  to  her  ?' 

4  Yes,  and  she  decidedly  refused — ' 

4 1  am  lost.' 

4  Refused  them  as  a  gift — yes ;  but 
the  loan — ' 

4  The  loan — and  did  you  so  delicately 
turn  my  offer.' 

'So  delicately,  that  she  accepted  it.' 

•I — lend  to  the  queen! — oh!  coun- 
tess, can  that  be  possible  ?' 

4  It  IH  more  than  if  you  absolutely  gave 
— is  it  nol  so?' 

'  A  thousand  times.' 

1  And  that  is  my  opinion ;  at  all 
events,  lien'  majesty  accwpts.' 

The  cardinal  rose  from  his  chair,  and 
then  sat  down  again ;  lie  once  more 
rose,  approached  Jmiime,  and  taking 
her  hands:  'Do  not  deceive  me,'  said 
he,  imploringly,  'remember  that  wilh 
one  word  you  can  make  me  the  must, 
miserable  of  men.' 

4  True  passion  is  not  to  be  played 
with,  inonfieigneur;  it  is  well  to  do  so, 
with  ridiculous  ones,  but  men  of  your 
high  rank  and  merit  cuu  never  be  ridi- 
culous.' 


4  Thnt  is  true.  Then  all  that  you 
have  said — ' 

'  Is  the  precise  truth.' 

4 1  have,  then,  a  secret  with  the 
queen? 

A  secret — n  mortal  secret.' 

The    cardinal   energetically    pressed 
j  Jeanne's  haul. 

4 1  like  that  shako  of  the  hand,'  said 
the  countess,  •  it  is  that  of  u  man  to  a 
man.' 

4  It  is  that  of  a  happy  man  to  a  pro- 
tecting angel.1 

.    4  Monseigneur,  do  not  exaggerate  in 
any  thing.' 

'Oh  !  but  it  is  so — my  joy,  my  grati- 
tude— never — ' 

4  But  you  are  exaggerating  both  the 
one  and  the  other.  Was  it  not  your 
wish  to  lead  a  million  and  n  half  to  the 
queen  ?' 

The  cardinal  sighed. 

'Buckingham  Would  have  asked  for 
something  more,  monseigneur,  after 
having  strewn  his  pearls  upon  the  floor 
of  the  royal  chamber.' 

'  Thnt  which  Buckingham  obtained, 
countess,  I  would  not  even  wish  for, 
were  it  in  a  dream.' 

'  You  can  enter  into  that  explanation, 
monseigneur,  with  the  queen,  for  she 
ordered  me  to  inform  you  that  she  will 
see  you  with  pleasure  at  Versailles.' 

The  imprudent  woman  had  no  sooner 
allowed  these  words  to  escape  her  lips, 
than  the  cardinal  turned  as  pale  as  a 
timid  youth,  when  receiving  the  first 
kiss  of  love.  He  felt  around  him,  like 
u  drunken  man,  and  seized  the  first 
chair  his  hand  encountered,  to  support 
his  trembling  limbs. 

Ah!  ah  !' thought  Jeanne,  4  it  is  even 
more  serious  than  I  had  believed ;  I 
had  thought  of  a  duchy,  a  peerage,  an 
income  of  a  hundred  thousand  livres, 
but  1  may  now  soar  as  high  as  a  princi- 
pality, even  to  an  income  of  half  a  mil- 
lion ;  for  M.  de  Kohan  is  moved  by  nei- 
thor  ambition,  nor  by  avarice,  but  by 
love.' 

M.  de  Rohan  soon  recovered  his  self- 
posseSsion  ;  joy  is  not  a  malady  of  long 
duration,  and  as  his  was  a  solid  mind, 
he  thought  it  would  be  proper  to  con* 
verse  with  Jeanne  on  business  matters, 
in  order  that  she  ini»l<t  fur-el  he  had 
just  been  speaking  of  IOVB.  She  ullovr- 
c-d  him  to  go  on  as  lie  pleased.  ^ 

•My  friend,'  aiiid  lie,  pressing  Jean- 
ne in'his  arms,  •  what  does'  tint  queen 
mean  to  do  as  to  the  loan  which  you 
have  proposed  to  her  .'' 

•  You    ask     me    that,    because    it    u 


'208 


THE  QUEEN'S  NECKLACE ;    OR,  THE 


thought  'h«t,  the  queen  is  out  of  funds?' 

1  Precisely.* 

'  Well  then,  the  queen  menns  to  iny 
you  us  if  slie  wore  paying  Hoehmer, 
with  this  difference,  that  if  she  hud 
bought  of  Koehmer,  nil  Paris  would 
have;  known  it — u  thing  which  would  be 
impossible  to  her,  ;ift.erlier  famous  say- 
ing as  to  the  ship-of-the-line  ;  nnd  be- 
cause, were  the  king  to  pout,  till  France 
would  make  wry  faces  nt  her.  Tin: 
queen  will  therefore  receive  the  dia- 
monds in  detail,  and  pay  in  detail  for 
them.  You  furnish  her  this  opportu- 
nity ;  you  are  a  discreet,  a  solvent  ca- 
shier, ll»  the  t;vent  of  her  suffering  any 
embarrassment,  and  that  is  nil.  She  is 
happy,  and  she  pays — do  not  ask  for 
more.' 

•  Sue  pnys  !  4iow  ?' 

4  The  queen,  a  woman  whom  nothing 
can  escape,  knows  well  that  you  have 
many  debts,  monseigneur;  and  besides, 
«he  is  proud — she  is  not  a  friend  who 
will  receive  presents.  When  1  told  her 
that  you  had  advanced  two  hundred  and 
fifty  thousand  livres ' 

«  You  told  her  that?' 

'And  why  not?' 

'It  was  at  once  rendering  the  affair 
impossible  to  her.' 

4  It  was  procuring  her  the  means,  the 
reason  for  accepting  it.  "  Nothing  for 
nothing,''  that  is  the  quee-n'a  motto.' 

'Good  heaven !' 

Jeanne  very  quietly  put  her  hand  into 
her  pocket,  and  took  out  the  queen's 
pocket-book. 

•  What  is  that  ?'  asked  M.  de  Rohan. 

4  A  pocket-book,  which  contains  bank 
notes  for  two  hundred   and  fifty  thous- 
and livres,  and  which  the  queen  sends 
'to  you  with  very  gracious  thanks.' 

•  Oh  ." 

4  The  amount  is  there,  I  counted 
them.' 

4  Oh  !  that  is  not  the  point.' 

4  But  what  are  you  gazing  at  so  ear- 
nestly ?' 

4 1  was  looking  at  that  pocket-book, 
which  I  do  not  remember  having  seen 
you  wear  In-fore.' 

•It  pleases  you;  and  yet  it  19  neither 
handsome  nor  rich.' 

4 1  know  not  why,  but  it  pleases  me.' 

4  You  have  good  taste.' 

4  You  are  mocking  me  ?  In  what  is 
it  you  >-.i>  i  ii  <'..-  good  taste?' 

•  Undoubit-  !l ,    you    linve,   since  your 
taste  siccuivis  with  that  of  the  queen.' 

'This  pockelt-bqok — ' 

'  Was  tii>  queens,  monseigneur.' 

4  A  ud  do  you  prize  it  ?' 


4  Oh  !  very  much.' 

M.  de  Rohan  sighed. 

4  That  I  can  readily  conceive,'  said  he. 

4  And  yet,  if  it  would  give  you  much 
pleasure,'  said  the  countess,  with  that 
smilt!  which  would  have  brought  perdi- 
tion on  a  saint, 

1  You  cannot  doubt  that,  countess j— 
but  I  would  not  deprive  you  of  it.' 

4T?ikeit.' 

'  Countess,'  cried  the  cardinal  trans- 
ported with  delight,  4  you  are  the  most 
precious  friend,  the  most  intellectual, 
the  most — 

•  Yes,  yes,  aH  that — ' 

4  And  between  us  it  shall  be — ' 

*•  Through  life  and  death — that  is  al- 
ways the  end  of  the  story.  No,  I  have 
but  one  merit.' 

4  And  what  is  that  ?' 

'That  of  having  succeeded  in  your 
affairs  with  tolerably  good  fortune  and 
much  zeal.' 

'  If  that  were  your  only  merit,  my 
dear  friend,  I  might  tell  you  that  I  am 
almost  equally  worthy  with  yourself, 
seeing  that  while  you,  poor  dear,  were 
jolting  along  the  Versailles  road,  1  have 
also  beeu  at  work  for  you.' 

Jeanne  looked  at  the  cardinal  with 
surprise. 

'  Yes,  'tis  a  mere  trifle,'  said  he. 
'  A  man  came  here,  my  banker,  to 
propose  to  me  to  take  some  shares  in,  I 
know  not  what  affair — some  draining  of 
a  marsh,  and  cultivating  it.' 

'Ah!' 

1  The  profit  was  quite  cer-  tain,  30 
I  agreed  to  it.' 

'  And  rightly  did  you.' 

4  Oh  !  you  shall  see  that  you  always 
occupy  the  first  place  in  my  thoughts.1 

4  The  second,  and  that  would  be  much 
more  than  I  deserve  ;  but  let  us  hear.' 

4  My  banker  gave  me  two  hundred 
shares,  I  took  one  fourth  of  them  for 
you,  the  last.'  '  Oh  !  monseigneur.' 

4  Let  me  go  on.  In  two  hours  after- 
wards he  returned.  The  sole  fact  of 
the  purchase  t>f  those  very  shnres.  pro- 
duced a  rise  upon  the  exchange  of  a 
hundred  per  cent.  He  gave  me  a  hun- 
dred thousand  livres.' 

'  A* magnificent  speculation.' 

*Of  which  here  is  your  share,  dear 
countess — I  should  have  snid,dearfriend.' 
\nd  of  the  packet  of  two  hundred  and 
fifty  thousand  livres  sent  by  the  queen, 
he  slipped  twenty-five  thousand  into 
the  hand  of  the  countess. 

'This  is  right  well,  rnons-eigneur; 
you  no  sooner  receive  than  pay.  But 


MYSTERIES  OF  THE  COITRT  OF  LOUIS  XVI. 


209 


that  which  most  {ilwases  me  is.  that  you 
have  thought  of  me.' 

'  And  I  shall  always  do  so,'  replied 
the  cardinal,  kissing  her  hand. 

1  And  you  may  calculate  on  the  same, 
said  Jeanne.  '  We  shall  soon  meet 
again,  raonseigneur — and  at  Versailles.' 

And  she  hurried  home,  after  having 
given  to  the  cardinal  a  note  of  the  dates 
fixed  by  the  queen  for  the  several  pay- 
ments. 


CHAPTER  XLV. 

UT  WHICH  MONSIEUR  DUCORNEAU  ABSO- 
LUTELY CANNOT  COMPREHEND  EVEN 
A  TITTLE  Or  ALL  THAT  IS  PASSING 
AROUND  HIM. 

We  must  now  return  to  our  worthies 
at  the  Hotel  of  the  Portuguese  embassy 
in  the  Rue  de  la  Jussienne,  who  were 
impatiently  awaiting  the  promised  visit 
from  Boehmer,  which  was  to  secure  to 
them  definitely  the  possession  of  the 
BO  much  coveted  necklace. 

On  the  day  following  that  on  which 
the  sale  of  the  necklace  to  the  Cardinal 
de  Rohan  had  been  consummated, 
Boehmer  accompanied  by  his  partner, 
both  of  them  assuming  as  composed  an 
•ir  as  the  circumstances  would  permit, 
set  out  for  the  mansion  of  the  great 
Minister  Plenipotentiary  de  Souza. 

At  the  moment  they  were  about  to 
knock  at  the  gate  M,  Beausire,  first 
secretary  of  legation,  was  making  M. 
Ducorneau  give  him  an  exact  and  parti- 
cular account  of  his  finances  ;  and  Don 
Manoel  y  Souza,  the  ambassador,  was 
explaining  a  new  plan  of  campaign  to  his 
partner,  the  valet  de  chambre. 

Since  M.  de  Boehmer's  last  visit  to 
the  Rue  de  la  Jussienne,  the  hotel  of 
the  embassy  had  undergone  many  im- 
'  poitant  transformations. 

The  whole  of  the  household  after  dis- 
embarking, as  we  have  before  stated, 
from  two  post  carriages,  had  establish- 
ed themselvesaecording  to  the  exigency 
of  the  case  and  the  various  posts  they 
wero  appointed  to  fill  in  the  establish- 
ment of  the  new  ambassador. 

It  must  be  admitted  that  the  partners, 
dividing  thus  the  different  parts  between 
them,  and  which  they  performed  ad- 
mirably well,  had  the  opportunity  of 
watching  over  their  own  individual  inte- 
rests ;  a  feeling  which  imparts  a  certain 
degree  of  courage  even  while  subjected 
to  the  most  menial  and  painful  duties. 


M.  Ducorneau,  enchanted  with  th» 
intelligence  of  nil  these  new  officers  and 
valets,  admired  the  ambassador  for 
evincing  so  tittle  national  prejudice  a* 
to  have  composed  his  household  entire- 
ly of  Frenchmen,  even  from  his  first 
'secretary  down  to  the  lowest  valet. 

And  therefore  it  was  while  summing 
up  his  figures  with  M.  de  Beausire  that 
he  entered  into  a  conversation  with  him, 
highly  laudatory  of  the  chief  of  the  em- 
bassy. 

'  The  Souzas  do  you  see,'  said  Beau- 
sire,  'are  not  like  those  antiquated 
Portuguese,  completely  encrusted  with 
the  manners  of  the  fourteenth  century, 
of  which  ihere  are  many  slill  dristiog 
in  our  provinces.  No,  they  are  gentle- 
men travellers,  possessed  of  millions, 
and  'who  might  be  kings  some  where,  did 
it  happen  tote  their  fancy. 

'  But  it  does  not,'  archly  replied  M. 
Ducorneau. 

'  And  why  should  if,  good  M.  Chan- 
cellor ?  Is  not  a  iniin  with  a  certain 
number  of  millions,  and  a  princely  name., 
equal  to  a  king?' 

'  Why  these  are  philosophic  doc- 
trines,' cried  M.  Ducornoan,  much  sur- 
prised. 4  1  never  expected  to  hear  these 
equalizing  maxims  issue  from  the  mouth 
of  a  Portuguese  diplomatist.' 

*  We  are  an  exception.'  replied  Beaa- 
sire,  a  little  annoyed  at  the  anachronism 
he  had  been  guilty  of;   •  without  being 
a  Voltaire,  or  an  Armenian  after  Rous- 
seau's manner,  a  man  may  be  something 
of  a  philosopher  —  he  may  know  the  na- 
tural theories  of  the  inequality  of  condi- 
tions and  of  powers.' 

'  Do  you  know,'  cried  the  chancellor, 
enthusiastically,  '  that  it  is  very  fortu- 
nate for  the  rest  of  Europe  that  Portu- 
gal is  but  a  small  state.' 

4  And  why  so  ?' 

*  Because  with  such  men  at  its  head, 
it  would   soon  become  more   powerful 
than  any  other.' 

'Oh!  you  flatter  ns,  dear  chancellor. 
No,  we  are  merely  talking  on  political 
philosophy.  It  i»  specious,  but  not  ap- 
plicable. But,  let  us  atop  there.  You 


thousand  livrea  in  hand  ?' 

'  Yes,  M.  Secretary,  one  hundred  and 
erght  thousand  livres.' 

•  \nd  no  debts?' 

'  Not  a  sous.' 

'That  is  exemplary.  Give  me  the 
statement  you  have  drawn  up  of  it,  if 
you  please.' 

'  Here  it  is.  But  when  is  the  presen- 
tation to  take  place,  M.  Secretary  ?  I 


210 


THE  QUEEN'S  NECKLACE;  OR,  THE 


must  tell  you  that  it  is  a  subject  of  eager 
curiosity  to  the  whole  neighborhood — 
of  inexhaustible  comments,  I  might  say, 
almost  of  iinxiety.' 

•Ha!  ha." 

4  Yes,  and  people  are  seen  every  now 
and  then  prowling  and  peeping  about 
the  hotel,  who  would  seern  to  wish  the 
gates  were  of  glass.' 

'  People  ?'  said  Beausire,  '  oh,  people 
of  the  neighborhood,  I  suppose.' 

4  And  others  ;  the  ambassador's  mis- 
sion being  a  secret  one,  you  can  readily 
imagine  that  the  police  will  immediate- 
ly do  all  it  can  to  ferret  out  its  nature.' 

'  I  liave  thought  as  you  do  of  it,'  re- 
plied Beausire,  somewhat  agitated. 

'Look  there,  M.  Secretary,'  said  Du- 
corneau,  leading  Beausire  to  the  iron 
grating  of  a  window,  which  opened  upon 
the  street.  '  Do  you  see  that  man  in  a 
shabby  brown  coat  yonder  ?' 

'  Yes,  I  see  him.' 

4  How  eagerly' he  looks,  hey  !' 

4  That  is  true,  faith.  What  do  you 
think  he  is  ?' 

4  How  can  I  know ;  one  of  M.  de 
Crosne's  spies,  perhaps.' 

'  That's  very  likely.' 

•  Between  ourselves,  Mr.  Secretary, 
M.  de  Crosne  has  not  the  ability  of  the 
late  M.  de  Sartines.     Did  you  know  M. 
de  Siirtines?' 

*  No,  sir,  no  !' 

4  Oh  !  he  would  have  found  you  out 
ten  times  over  before  this  :  it  is  true 
you  take  great  precautions — ' 

A  bell  rang. 

4  The  ambassador  calis  for  me,'  cried 
Beausire,  glad  to  break  off,  for  the  con- 
versation began  to  embarrass  him  ;  and 
opening  the  folding  door  quickly  and 
violeutlfy,  he  overturned  two  of  the 
partners,  who,  the  one  with  a  pen 
behind  his  ear,  the  other  with  a  broom 
in  his  hand,  thinking  Beausire's  con- 
versation with  the  chancellor  rather 


The  discussion  was  not  completely 
terminated.  When  Beausire  entered  the 
room,  the  two  gamecocks  were  pluck- 
ing each  pther's  last  feathers. 

'  Come,  now,  M.  Beausire,  you  shall 
decide  between  us,"  said  the  commaud- 


4  And  on  what  subject  ?'  said  the  se- 
cretary, assuming  the  airs  of  an  arbi- 
trator, after  exchanging  a  glance  with 
the  ambassador,  his  natural  ally. 

4  You  know,'  said  the  valet  de  cham- 
bre,  « that  M.  Boehmer  is  to  come  here 
to-day  to  conclude  the  affair  of  the 
necklace.' 

4 1  know  it.' 

'And  that  the  sum  of  a  hundred 
thousand  livres  is  to  be  paid  to  him.' 

'  I  know  that  also.' 

'  That  hundred  thousand  livres  is  the 
property  of  the  partnership,  is  it  not?' 

'  Who  doubts  it  ?' 

4  Ah  !  you  see  that  M.  de  Beausire  is 
of  my  opinion,'  said  the  commandant, 
turning  towards  Don  Manoel. 

4 1  coincide  with  you  only  in  opinion 
on  this  point,'  said  Beausire,  '  that  the 
hundred  thousand  livres  belong  to  the 
association.' 

•That  is  enough,  I  ask  for  nothing 
more.  That  being  admitted,  the  safe 
in  which  that  sum  is  deposited  ought 
not  to  be  placed  in  the  only  office  of  the 
embassy  contiguous  to  the  chamber  of 
the  ambassador. ' 

'  And  why  so  ?'  said  Beausire. 

'.If  it  be  so,'  resumed  the  commander, 
the  ambassador  ought  to  give  to  each  of 
us  a  key  to  that 

'  By  no  means.'  said  the  Portuguese. 

4  Your  reasons  ?' 

4  Oh,  yes,  your  reasons?'  added  Beau- 
sire. 

I  arn  mistrusted,'  snid  the  Portu- 
guese stroking  his  beard,  4  why  should 
not  I  mistrust  others.  It  appears  to  me 
that  if  I  am  accused  of  robbing  the  as- 


long,  ami  wishing  to  ascertain  the  sub-  sociation,  I  may  suspect  the  associatioj 

ject  of  it  had   glued  their  ears  to  the  of  wishing  to  rob  me.  We  are  all  people 

.  door.  of  equal  worth.' 

Beausire  inferred  from   this  that  he  '  Agreed.' said  the  valet  de  chambre, 

was  suspected  by  his  confederates,  and  4  but  it  is  precisely  on  that  account  that 

resolved  on  being  doubly  vigilant.  we  have  all  equal  rights.' 

He,  iheivfore,  \\cnt  up   stairs  to  the  '  Then,  my  dear  sir,  as  you  wish  for 

ambassador,  after  having,  in  the  dark  a    complete    system    of    equality,    you 

pa&Rge,  given  a  friendly  squeeze  of  the  ought    in     the     first    instance  to   have 

hand     o   e:i<-h    of    his    two   suspicious  j  determined,  that  we  should  each  in  our 

partners.  turn  play  the   part    of  the  ambassador. 

Duo  Manoel  deSouKa  was  rather  less  It  would    perhaps   hjwe  appeared   less 

yellow   than   usual ;  that   is   to   sny,  he  credible  in  the  eyes  of  the  public,  but 

was   rather  ivu>i'-r.     He   had  just  had  •  the  associates  would    have    felt    more 

a    somewhat    paint'  I    altercation    wi.h  secure.     That  is  true  is  it  not?' 

the  commandant,  vulet  de  chambre.  'And  first   of  all,  M.  Commandant, 


MYSTERIES  OF  THE  COURT  OF  LOUIS  XVI. 


211 


Ci 
r 


•aid  Beausire  interrupting  his  reply, 
4  you  do  not  net  as  a  true  companion. 
Has  not  the  Senhor  Don  Mnnoel  an  in- 
contestible  privilege,  thnt  of  having  in- 
vented the  whole  scheme  ?' 

'Ah!  undoubtedly,'  said  the  ambas- 
sador, 'and,  M.  de  Beausire  shares  that 
•with  me.' 

4  Oh !'  replied  the  commandant, 
'when  once  an  affair  is  in  operation  no 
farther  attention  is  paid  to  privileges.' 

•  Agreed,  but  attention  to  good  man- 
ners should  still  be  continued,  observed 
Beausire. 

4 1  am  not  the  only  one  to  make  this 
demand,'  said  the  commandant,  some- 
what ashamed,  4all  our  comrades  think 
as  I  do.' 

4  And  they  are  all  wrong,"  replied  the 
Portuguese.  . 

*•  4  They  are  wrong,'  repeated  Beausire. 

The  commandant  again  held  up  his  head. 
'  It  was   I   who  was   in   the  wrong,' 
did  he  spitefully,   •  to  ask  M.  de  Beau- 
sire's   opinion.      The    secretary  could 
not  fail  to  side  with  the  ambassador,' 

4  M.  Commandant,'  replied  Beausire, 
with  surprising  coolness,  4  you  are  a 
scoundrel  and  I  will  cut  olf  your  ears,  if 
you  still  have  ears,  but  they  have  been 
already  clipped  too  often.' 

4  What's  that  ?'  cried  the  command- 
ant drawing  himself  up. 

4  We  are  here  very  snugly  in  the  ca- 
binet of  his' excellency  the  ambassador, 
and  can  quietly  settle  this  matter  in  a 
family  w,ay.  Now  you  have  just  in- 
sulted me  by  saying  that  I  urn  in  collu- 
sion with  Don  Manoel. 

4  And  you  have  insulted  me  also," 
coldly  said  the  Portuguese,  coming  to 
the  assistance  of  Beausire.  4  And  for 
this  you  must  give  satisfaction,  M. 
Commandant.' 

4  Oh  !  I  am  no  Hector,'  cried  the  valet 
de  chambre. 

•  I  see  that  clearly  enough,'  replied 
Beausire;  4  and  consequently  you  will 
receive  a  thrashing,  commandant.' 

4  Help  !  help!'  cried  tin-  letter,  already 
seized  by  the  lover  of  Mademoiselle 
Oliva,  and  almost  strangled  by  the  Por- 
tuguese. 

But.  at  the  moment  that  the  two  chiefs 
were  aboutto  take  justice  into  their  own 
hands,  a  bell  from  below  announced  that 
a  visitor  w;:s  ascending. 

4  Let  him  go,'  said  Don  Mnnoel. 
4  And  let  him  attend  to  his  service,' 
said  Beausire. 

'Our  partners  shall  know  this,'  said  the 
commandant,  adjusting  the  disorder  of 
his  attire. 


4  Oh  !  tell  them  what  you  please,  we 
shall  know  how  to  answer  it.' 

4  Monsieur  Boehmer !'  cried  the  Swiav 
from  the  foot  of  the  staircase. 

4  And  this  settles  the  whole  matter, 
dear  commandant,'  cried  Beausire,  giv- 
ing his  adversary  a  slight  blow  on  the 
back  of  his  neck  ;  '  we  shall  no  longer 
have  any  contest  wkh  regard  to  the 
hundred  thousand  livres,  since  the  hun- 
dred thousand  livres  are  about  to  dis- 
appear with  Ml  Boehmer.  There  now, 
make  yo'ir  bow,  good  M.  valet  de  cham- 
bre. and  mind  your  duty,' 

The  commandant  went  out  grumbling, 
but  resumed  his  humble  air,  in  order 
properly  to  introduce  the  jeweller  to  the 
(jrown. 

Boehmer  entered  the  room,  followed 
by  Bossange  ;  both, their  countenances 
were  humble  and  confused,  on  seeing 
which  the  two  keen  observers  of  the 
embassy  could  not  but  surmise  that  some 
new  difficulty  had  arisen. 

While  accepting  the  chairs  offered  by 
Beausire,  the  latter  continued  his  inves- 
tigation, watching  at  the  same  time  the 
eye  of  Don  Manoel,  to  keep  up  a  per- 
fect correspondence  between  them. 

Manoel  retained  his  dignified  and  of- 
ficial deportment. 

Boehmer,  the  initiatory  genius  of  the 
house,  was  the  one  to  speak,  under 
these  difficult  circumstances.  He  ex- 
plained that  political  reasons  of  high  im- 
portance prevented  his  carrying  out  the 
previous  negotiation. 

Manoel  exclaimed  loudly ;  Beausire 
gave  'a  hem!'  M.  Boehmer  became 
more  and  more  embarrassed. 

Don  Manoel  observed  to  him  that  the 
bargain  had  been  concluded  ;  that  the 
money  for  the  payment  on  account  was 
ready.  Boehmer  persisted. 

The  ambassador,  still  by  the  interpre- 
tation of  Beausire,  replied,  that  he  had 
forwarded  to  his  government  information 
of  the  conclusion  of  the  bargain;  that  to 
breaK  it  olf  was  to  subject  her  majesty 
to  a  quasi  insult. 

M.  Boehmer  observed  that  he  had 
well  considered  all  the  importance  of 
these  reflections,  but  to  return  to  his 
first  ideas  lunl  heroine  impossible  to  him. 

Beausire  could  not  make  up  his  mind 
to  agree  to  this  rupture  ufthe,  contract; 
he  declared  that  such  M  retractation  was 
the  conduct  of  an  unfaithful  tiflHesmao, 
of  a  man  whose  word  was  of  no  vnlue. 

Bossange  then  m-citiue  the  orator,  in 
order  to  defend  trade  thus  vilified  in  the 
person  of  his  associate  and  himself,  but 
he  WHH  not  eloquent. 


212 


THE  Q [TEEN'S  NECKLACE;  OR,' "THE 


Beausire  closed  his  month  at  once  by 
this  sole  assertion. 

•  Yon  have  found  a  higher  bidder  :' 
The  jewellers,  who  wero  not  very 
well  versed  in  politics,  nnd  who  hnd  nn 
exceedingly  high  opinion  of  diplomatists 
in  general,  and  of  Portuguese  diploma 
tists   in   particular,  blushed,  conceiving 
thnt  the  ambassador  hnd   diviued  then 
motives. 

Benusire  saw  that  he  had  strnck 
home,  and  as  it'wns  essentiiilly  impor- 
tnnt'ro  him  that  the  affair  should  be  car- 
ried through,  for  n  fortune  depended  on 
it,  he  pretended  to  consult  his  ambas- 
sador in  the  Portuguese  language,  and 
then  turning  to  the  jewellers  : 

'  Gentlemen,'  said  he,  'you  have  been 
offered  a  more  advantageous  price ;  no- 
thing can  be  more  natural;  it  proves 
that  the  diamonds  were  offered  us  at  a 
fair  value.  Well !  her  Portuguese  ma- 
jesty would  not  desire  to  obtain  u  thing 
cheaply  to  the  prejudice  of  worthy 
tradesmen.  Must  we  offer  you  fifty 
thousand  livres  more  ?' 

Boehmer  shook  his  head. 

•One  hundred  thousand  livres — one 
hundred  and  fifty  thousand,'  continued 
Beausire,  decided,  without  in  the 
slightest  degree  thereby  injuring  him- 
•eif,  to  offer  even  a  million  more,  rather 
than  lose  the  chance  of  gaining  his  pro- 
portion of  the  fifteen  hundred  thousand 
livres. 

The  jewellers  being  dazzled  by  this 
offer,  were  for  a  moment  or  two  much 
embarrassed;  then  having  consulted 
•ftch  other. 

*  No,  Mr.  Secretary,'  said  Boehmer, 
4  do  not  take  the  trouble  to  tempt  us. 
The  bargain  is  concluded.  A  will, 
more  powerful  than  ours,  compels  us 
to  sell  the  necklace  in  this  country. 
You,  doubtless,  understand  us  ;  it  IH  not 
we  who  refuse  ;  therefore,  be  not  ill- 
disposed  towards  us.  It  is  from  some 
one  greater  than  ourselves,  greater  than 
erven  you,  that  comes  thia'opposition.' 

Beausire  and  Manoel  could  find  no 
feply  to  this  ;  on  the  contrary,  they  paid 
a  sort  of  compliment  to  the  jewellers, 
and  endeavored  to  affect  indifference, 

They  were  so  intent  upon  this  that 
they  did  not  observe  the  commandant's 
valet  de  chambre,  who  was  occupied  in 
listening  nt  the  door  of  the  antecham- 
ber, wliich  he  had  slightly  opened,  in 
order  to  hear  how  the  affair,  from  which 
they  wished  to  exclude  him,  was  likely 
to  terminate. 

This  worthy  associate,  however, 
managed  it  very  awkwardly,  for  while 


leaning  towards  the  door  his  foot  slip- 
ped, and  he  knocked  his  head  against 
one  of  the  panels,  making  a  loud  noise. 

Beausire  rushed  out  of  the  room  and 
found  the  unhappy  man,  stretched  upon 
the  ground,  and  greatly  terrified. 

•  What  are  you  doing  there,  wretch!' 
exclaimed  Beausire. 

'Sir,'  replied  the  commandant,  'I 
was  bringing  in  this  morning's  post.' 

"Tis  well,' said  Beausire,  'begone!' 

And  taking  the  despatches  he  dismis- 
sed the  commandant. 

These  despatches  were  the  corre- 
spondence of  the  embassy.  Letters 
from  Portugal  nnd  Spain,  for  the  most 
part  very  unimportant,  which  formed 
the  daily  work  of  M.  Ducorneau,  but 
which  always  passing  through  the 
hands  of  Beausire  and  Don  Manoel  be- 
fore being  sent  to  the  chancery,  gave 
them  some  very  useful  intelligence  as  to 
the  affairs  of  the  embassy. 

On  hearing  the  word  '  despatches'  the 
jewellers  rose   from   their  chnirs  nmcfi* 
relieved,   as   people  who   receive  per- 
mission to  withdraw  after  an  embarrass- 
ing audience. 

They  were  allowed  to  depart,  and  the 
valet  de  chambre  was  ordered  to  nc- 
company  them  down  to  the  court.yard. 

He   had   scarcely  reached   the  stair- 

ase  when  Don    Manoel  and  Beausire 

exchanged   one  of  those  looks   which 

speedily  lead  to  action — theydrew  close 

to  one  another. 

Well ."  said  Don  Manoel,  •  the  affair 
bus  failed.' 

*  Completely"  replied  Beausire. 

•  Out  of  one  hundred  thousand  Hvres, 
n  paltry  theft,  we  shall  each  receive  on- 
y  eight  thousand  four  hundred  livres.' 

It  is  not  worth  the  while,'  observed 
Beausire. 

'  And   so   think  I,  while  in  the  safe 

here,'  and  he    pointed    at   the  safe  BO 

eagerly   coveted    by  the   commandant, 

there- in  that  safe  are  a  hundred  and 

eight  thousand  livres.' 

'  Fifty-four  thousand  each  ?' 

»  Well !  'tis  agreed,'  replied  Don 
Vlanoel.  '  Let  us  divide.' 

'  Be  it  so  ;  but  the  commandant,  now 
hat  he  knows  the  affair  has  failed,  will 
not  leave  us  for  a  moment.' 

I  will  find  out  some  means,'  said 
Don  Manoel  in  a  singularly  impresnive 

10. 

'  And  I  have  found  one  already,'  said 
Beausire, 

'  What  is  it  ?' 

'This.  The  commandant  will  BOOB 
eturn  ?' 


MYSTERIES  OF  THE  COURT  OF  LOUIS  XVI. 


213 


•  We  shnll  have  the  whole  housevup- 
on  our  bucks  ?' 

•  Yes,' 

4  Let  us  call  the  commandant  as  if  to 
entrust  some  secret  to  him,  and  then  let 
me  manage  ft.' 

'  It  appears  to  me  that  I  already  guess 
it,'  said. Don.  Munoel,  'you  had  better 
go  down  si  airs  and  meet  him.' 

'  I  was  about  to  tell  you  to  do  so  your- 
self.' 

Neither  the  one  nor  the  other  would 
consent  to  leave  his  friend  alone  so  near 
the  safe.  Confidence. is. a  scarce  jewel. 

Don  Manoel  replied,  that  his  quality 
of  ambassador  prevented  him  from  tak- 
ing such  a  step. 

4  To  him. you  are  not  an  ambassador,' 
.    ^ wad  Beausire  ;  »  but  no  matter.' 

'  You  are  going  down  ]' 

•No;  I  will  call  him  from  the  win- 
dow.' Arid.  Beausire  hailed  the  com- 
mandant from  the  window,  who  was 
just  at  that  moment  about  to  begin  a 
conversation  with  the  Swiss. 

The  commandant*,  on  hearing  himself 
called,  immediately  hurried  up  stairs. 

He  found  the  two  chiefs  in  the  room 
,  next   to   that  in   which   the    safe    WHH 
standing.    Beausire  addressed  him  with 
th  a  smiling  face,     '  I  will  wager,'  said 
he,  -that  I  know  what  .you  were-  say- 
ing to  the  Swiss.' 
JfT-  -Who,  I?' 

4  Yes,  you  were  telling  him  that  the 
affair  with  Boehmer  had  failed.' 

1  No,  on  my -word.' 

4  You  are  lying.' 

•  1  swear  to  you  I  am  not.' 

'So  much  the  be  tier*,  for  if  you  had 
you  would  have  committed  a  great  stu- 
pidity, and  have  lost  a  good  sum  of  mo- 
ney.' 

4  How  so  ?'  said  the  commandant,  sui'. 
prised  ;  '  what  sum  of  money  «' 

4  You  will  readily  understand  that  we 
three,  alone,  are -in  possession  of  this' 
secret.' 

'  That  is  true  ?' 

1  And  thnt.  consequently*  we  three 
have  the  hundred  and  eight,  thousand 
livres,  since  the  others  believe  that 
Bpehrner  and  Bossonge  have  taken  it 
away  with  them.' 

•  By  Jupiter  !'  cried  the  commandant, 
transported  with  joy,  '  that  is  true  !' 

4  Thirty-three  thousand  three  hun- 
dred and  thirty-throe  livres,  six  sous,  for 
each  of  us,'  observed  Don  Manoel. 

4  More  !  more!'  cried  the  comman- 
dant; 'there  is  ^he  fraction  of  eight 
thousand  livres.' 


4  Oh !  yes,'  said  Beausire,  'do-yoa 
agree  ?' 

4  Do  I  agree-?'  cried  the  valet  de 
chambre,  joyfully  rubbing  his  hands  ;  4 1 
believe  I  do,  indeed !  This  is  as  it 
should  be — that  is  what  £  call  speaking.' 

'  That  is  what  I  call  speaking  like  a 
scoundrel,'  cried. Beausire,  in  a  voice  of 
thunder ;  '  dtd  I  not  tell  you  that  you 
were  a  mere  rascal.  Come,  Don  Ma- 
noel, you  who  are  so  powerful,  seize 
that  fellow,  and. let  us  hand  him  over  to 
our  partners,  telling  them  what  a  traitor 
he  has  proved.' 

4  Mercy  !  mercy  !'  cried  the  unhappy 
wrelch,  '  what  I  said,  was  only  in  jest.' 

4  Come,  come !  into  the  dark  room* 
with  him,  until  we  can  punish  him  MK 
amply  as  he  deserves,' 

4  Mercy  !'  again  shrieked  the  can*. 
mandarit. 

•Take  care,'  said,  Beausire  to  D*B: 
Manoel,  who  had  seized  the  perfidious 
commandant,;  4take  care  that  M.  Do* 
corneau  does  not  hear  us.' 

4  If  you  do  not  release  me,'  said  th« 
commands! nt,  '  1  will  denounce  you  all,' 

'  And  if  you  are  not  quiet  I  will 
strangle  you,'  said  Don  Manoel  in  a 
voice  of  furious  anger  and  pushing  UM 
valet  de  chambre  into  a  d;irk  closet. 

4  Send  away  M.  Ducorneau,'  whispr 
ered  he  into  Beausire's  cars. 

The  latter  did  noi  wair  to  have    the 
suggestion  repeated.     He  rapidly    ra*. 
into  the  room  contiguous  to  that  of  the. 
ambassador,  while  the  latter  was  shut 
ting   up   the   commandant  in  his  dark . 
•dungeon 

Some  two  minutes  passed  and  Beau- 
sire  did  not  return. 

A  sudden  idea  struck  Don  MamiHl  ; 
the  safe  was  there  at  not  ten  puces  dis- 
tance ;  to  open  it,  to  take  out  the  hun- 
dred and  eight  thousand  livres  in  bank 
notes,  to  jump  out  of  the  window  and 
get  through  the  garden , with  his  prey, 
would  be  the  work  of  only  two  muiutes 
to  a  strong  and  wrll  experienced  thiet 

Don  Miinoc.l  calculated  thut  it  would 
take  Beausire  or  night 

minutes  to  got  ridof  Ducorneiiu  aifd  re- 
turn to  lli'i  room. 

I7«  nulled   i.  'he 

room  in  which  • 

found  that  the  duoi  IM<!  ln'-'n  loc^Ai 
Don  Manuel  was  powerful,  skilful,  lie 
woul  1  have  opened  the  gato  of  a  cily 
with  a  watch  key. 

4  Beuusiro  hna  misti usted  me,' thought 
lu>,  '  because  I  ouly  have  the  key,  aud 
ho  has  locked  the  doors,  that  is  quite  na- 
tural,' 


214 


THE  QUEEN'S  NECKLACE;  OR,  THE 


With  the  point  of  his  sword  he  push- 
ed back  the  bolt  of  the  lock. 

Oh  reaching  the  safe  he  uttered  a 
shriek  of  terror.  The  safe  stood  there 
with  gaping  doors,  and  empty.  There 
was  nothing  within  its  rifled  dra>vers. 

Beausire,  who  had  a  second  key,  had 
entered  the.  room  by  another  door  and 
had  swept  away  the  contents  of  the 
•afe. 

Don  Manoel  ran  like  a  mad  man  to 
the  porter's  lodge  where  he  found  the 
Swiss  singing. 

Beausire  had  distanced  him  by  at 
least  five  minutes.  • 

When  the  Portuguese  by  his  cries 
and  groans,  had  informed  the  whole  of 
the  occupnnts  of  the  hotel  of  the  mis- 
hap ;  when,  in  order  to  prove  what  he 
had  said,  he  released  the  commandant, 
he  found  himself  surrounded  by  his  as- 
sociates, all  of  whom  were  Furious  and 
incredulous. 

They  accused  him  of  having  concoct- 
ed the  whole  plot  with  Beausire,  who 
had  set  out  before  him  but  would  divide 
the  spoil  with  him. 

There  was  no  longer  any  mystery;  all 
masks  were  thrown  aside,  and  poor 
honest  Dacorneau  could  not  compre- 
hend with  what  persons  he  had  thus 
become  allied. 

He  very  nearly  fainted  when  he  saw 
the  diplomatists  preparing  to  hang  Don 
Maopei  under  a  shed,  who  could  in  no 
wise  help  himself. 

'  Hani:  M  de  Sou/,a,' cried  he,  '  why 
that  would  be  high  treason  !  take  care 
what  you  ar««  d'-ing  !' 

He  cried  so  loud  that  they  deter- 
mined on  throwing  him  into  a  cellar. 

At  that  moment  three  solemn  knocks 
were  heard  nt  the  fiont  gate  which 
made  the  associates  shudder. 

Silence  was  immediately  restored 
among  them. 

The  three  knocks  were  repented. 

Then  a  shrill  voice   cried  out  in  Por- 

tU&U* 

•  In  the  namo  of  the  ambassador  from 
Portugal,  open  the  gate  !' 

•Tin-  ambassador!'  muttered  the 
whole  band  of  rascals:  Mini  immediate- 
ly dispersing  in  all  directions,  some 
through  the  gardens,  others  climbing 
the  neighboring  walls,  or  scrambling 
over  the  roofs  of  houses,  a  general  #auv« 
aui  pint  ensued,  a  most  admired  con- 
fusion. 

The  real  unibas.-uulor,  who  had  in  fact 
arrived,  could  not  gain  admittance  to  his 
own*  hotel,  but  wim  the  aid  of  the  po- 
liue-archers.  who  broke  open  the  gate, 


in  the  presence  of  an  immense  crowd, 
which  had  collected  to  witness  this  most 
extraordinary  spectacle. 

Then  search  was  made  in  every  di- 
rection, and  poor  M.  Ducorneau  being 
found  in  the  cellar,  completely  stupified 
by  all  these  strange  occurrences,  was 
arrested  and  conducted  with  more  than 
diplomatic  ceremony  to  the  prison  cal- 
led le  Chatelet,  where  he  slept  that 
night. 


CHAPTER  XLVI. 

ILLUSIONS    AND    REALITIES. 

Ir   the  Swiss  of  the  embassy   could  , 
have  run  after  Beausire  as  Don  Manoel 
had  ordered  him,  we  must  acknowledge 
he  would  have  undertaken  a  very  diffi- 
ent  task. 

Beausire,  when  once  he  had  cleared 
the  gate,  had  run  at  n  hard  gallop  to  the 
Rue  Coquilliere,  and  afterwards  at  the 
top  of  his  speed  into  the  Rue  Saint 
Honore.  Always  imagining  that  he  was 
pursued,  he  endeavored  to  puzzle  thos* 
upon  his  track  by  making  various  doubles 
in  the  tortuous  and  narrow  streets  which 
surrounded  our  .corn  market,  called  the 
Halle  aux  BUs.  After  a- few  rainute» 
spent  in  this  way,  he  felt  assured  that 
no  one  could  have  followed  him  :  there 
was  another  thing  of  which  he  felt  also 
convinced,  and  this  was  that  his  strength 
was  altogether  exhausted  ;  and,  in  fact, 
a  good  race-horse  could  not  have  cover- 
ed much  more  ground  in  the  same  num- 
ber of  seconds. 

Beausire  seated  himself  upon  a  sack 
of  wheat  in  the  Hrae  de  Viarmes,  which 
runs  along  one  side  of  the  market,  and 
pretended  to  be  examining  with  the 
most  minute  attention  the  Medician  co- 
lumn which  Baehaumofit  had  purchased 
to  save  it  from  the  mallet  of  the  demo- 
lishes, and  had  presented  it  to  the 
municipality  of  Paris.* 

The  fact  is,  thai  .M .  de  Beiuisire  was 
neither  looking  at  M.  Philibert  Delor- 
me's  column,  nor  at  the  sundial  with 
which  M.  de  Pingrr:  had  adorned  it. 

*  The  tide  of  Demolishes    (demolisseurs)    was 
given  to  a  company  of  men  formed  in  Parif,  for  the 
t  purchnflng  old  buildings  in  order  to  pull 
tli^ui  down  I ••  olitiiin  the  uiHtrriiiU  of  which  they 
•trurti-d.     On  tBn  breaking  out  of  the  re- 
volution, tiii-:  ciimjinny  vv.-.a  extended  Knd  formed  a 
-lerully  known  t>y  the  niune  of  the  Bando 
Moire,  or  lilnclc  Band,  woo  went  about  the  country 
Buying  up  the  estates  of  the  nobility,  who  had  eai 
?rut-)d  t<i  foruign 


MYSTERIES  OF  THE  COURT  OF  LOUIS  XVI. 


215- 


He  was  painfully  drawing  from  the 
lowest  region  of  his  lungs  loud  aspira- 
tions,  hoarse  us  the  sound  of  a  worn  out 
forge  bellows. 

During  several  minutes  he  could  not 
succeed  in  supplying  the  mass  of  air, 
which  he  hud  expended  through  his 
larynx,  necessary  to  the  re-establish- 
ment of  the  equilibrium  between  suffo- 
cation and  plethora. 

At  last  he  did  succeed,  anfl  this  was 
with  a  sigh  that  might  have  been  heard 
by  all  the  inhabitants  of  the  rue  de  Vi- 
armes  had  they  not  been  more  profita- 
bly employed  in  selling  or  in  weighing 
out  their  grain. 

'Ah!'  thought  Beausire  'at  last  my 
dream  is  realised — I  am  in  possession  of 
a  fortune.'  And  he  again  drew  a  long 
breath. 

'I  shall  now  be  able  to  become  a  per- 
fectly honest  man.  I  seem  already  to 
be  getting  fatter.' 

And  in  truth,  if  not  getting  fatter,  he 
was  swelling  visibly. 
L  »I  shall'  said  he,  continuing  his  unut- 
tered  soliloquy  'make  Oliva  as  honest  a 
woman  as  I  shall  be  a  man.  She  is 
handsome,  she  is  simple  in  her  tastes.' 

The  unfortunate  fellow  ! 

•She  will  not  dislike  a  retired  country 
life  in  a  beautiful  farm,  which  I  will 
purchase  and  we,,  will  cull  it  our  estate; 
it  will  be  in  the  neighborhood  of  some 
small  city  where  tin-  inhabitants  will 
readily  conceive  us  to  be  people  of  su- 
perior rank.' 

'Nicoll  is  good  :  she  has  only  two  de- 
fects :  idleness  and  pride.' 

Mere  trifles !  poor  Beauaire  !  only 
two  deadl}'  sins. 

•And  notwithstanding  those  two  de- 
tects, which  I  will  satisfy,  I,  the  equi- 
vocal Beausire,  I  shall  have  acquired 
for  myself  uri  acomplished  and  loving 
wife.' 

He  did  not  proceed  any  further,  his 
respiration  had  resumed  its  wonted 
quiet. 

He  wiped  his  forehead,  ascertained 
that  the  one  hundred  and  eight  thou- 
sand Hvref  were  still  safe  in  his  breast- 
pocket, and  being  then  easier  in  body 
as  Wfll  MS  mind,  he  again  began  to  re- 
flect. 

Hia  enraged  confederates  would  not 
seek  for  him  in  the  roe  de  Vitirmes, 
but  they  would  seek  for  him.  The 
gentlemen  of  the  ernbassywere  not  per- 
sons who  could  with  satisfaction  con- 
sent to  bo  deprived  of  their  share  of  the 
booty. 

They  would  therefore  divide  them- 


selves into  several  parties,  and  they 
would  begin  by  exploring  the  residence 
of  their  defaulting  partner :  in  that  resi- 
dence lived  Oliva. 

There  lay  all  the  difficulty:  they 
would  inform  her  of  all  that  had  hap- 
pened, they  would,  perhaps,  ill  treat 
her.  Whit  might  they  not  do  ?  They 
might  even  push  their  cruelty  so  far  a» 
to  make  her  a  hostage. 

Why  should  those  rascals  not  be  a- 
ware  that  Mademoiselle  Oliva  wa» 
Beausire's  passion,  and  why,  if  thoy 
were  aware  of  it,  should  they  not  spe- 
culate on  that  passion  / 

The  mere  thought  of  these  two  dan- 
gers almost  maddened  Beausire.  Lov« 
was  triumphant :  he  would  not  allow 
any  one  to  touch  even  the  object  of  hw 
love  :  he  shot  off  with  the  swiftness  <»f 
an  arrow  towards  the  rue  DaupIRne 

He  had  moreover  an  unlimited  confi- 
dence in  the  rapidity  of  his  movements. 
His  enemies,  however  active  they 
might  be,  could  not  have  outstripped 
him. 

Moreover,  to  make  nil  sure,  he  jirmp>- 
ed  into  a  hackney  coach,  to  the  driver 
of  which  he  displayed  a  six  livre  crown 
piece,  saying  to  him,  '  to  the  Pont 
Neuf.; 

The  horses  did  not  merely  i;allop» 
they  absolutely  flew. 

The  evening  was  closing  in. 

Beausire  was  driven  to  the  open  ^piu-.o 
upon  the  bridge,  behind  the  stutuo  of 
Henry  IV.  In  those  dn\  >  the  approach 
to  it  was  allowed  ;  it  was  a  place  of 
meeting  then  much  used. 

Then  venturing  to  put  his  head  out 
of  the  coach  window,  his  eyes  eagerly 
scrutinized  the  rue  Dauphine. 

Beausire  had  some  experience  ui:b 
regard  to  police  matters :  he  hud  spent 
ten  years  in  endeavoring  to  recognize- 
its  agents,  that  he  might  know  how  to 
avoid  them  should  it  at  any  rime  be> 
necessary.  j 

He  observed  two  men,  who,  standing 
on  th<-  de*c;-nt  of  the  bridge,  and  t 
some  distance  from,  each  other  with 
outstretched  necks,  were  ga/,inu  .  t  ^>m*» 
object  in  the  nie  Biiuphine. 

The-<  .  ;is  by 

no  moans  a  ni re  occurrence  to  see  enio'n 
on  the  Fon)  N.-,,!'  .<-  •),  j)ro. 

verb  in  those  days  -.viiich  said,  fh), 
anyone  wished  to  see  atone  iim;  the 
same  moment  n  j  relate,  a  girl  of  th» 
town  and  a  white  horse,  they  had  Only 
to  go  to  the  Pont  Neuf  and  their  curi- 
osity was  sure  to  be  gratified. 

Now,  as  while  horses,  clerical  babili- 


THE  QUEEN'S  NECKLACE ;    OR,  THE 


ments  and  girls  of  the  town  hare  always 
been  objects  of  attention  to  police  offi- 
cers, Beausire  felt  merely  annoyed  and 
inconverienced  by  this  circumstance. 
He,  however  got  oat  of  the  hackney- 
coach,  and  making  himnelf  appear  hump- 
backed, and  limping  to  disguise  himself 
as  much  as  possible,  nnd  pushing 
through  the  crowd,  he  thus  reached 
the  rue  Dauphine. 

There  was  no  appearance,  of  the  de- 
scription he  hnd  apprehended  ;  he  could 
already  see  the  front  of  that  house  at 
whose  windows  Oliva,  his  guiding  star, 
so  often  showed  herself. 

The  windows  were  closed  ;  she  was 
doubtless  reclining  on  the  sofa,  reading 
-some  miserable  novel,  or  enjoying  some 
•little  delicacy. 

Beausire  suddenly  thought  he  per- 
ceived a  soldier's  uniform  in  the  alley 
opposite  the  windows;  and  more  than 
.this,  he  actually  saw  one  appear  at  the 
window  of  the  small  sitting-room. 

The  perspiration  once  more  stood 
upon  his  brow  :  but  this  time  it  was 
cold,  and  that  is  particularly  unwhole- 
some ;  he  could  not,  however,  retreat: 
it  was  necessary  to  pass  before  the 
house. 

Beausire  was  courageous  enough  to 
do  so ;  he  passed  by  the  house  and 
looked  at  it. 

What  a  spectacle  ! 

The  passage  crowded  with  soldiers 
of  the  Paris  guard,  in  the  midst  of 
whom  was  a  commissm-y  from  the 
Chatelet,  dressed  all  in  black.  The  ex 
perienced  eye  of  Beuusire  soon  per- 
ceived  that  these  people  were  embar- 
rassed, alarmed,  and  disappointed.  Peo- 
ple have,  or  have  not,  been  accustomed 
to  read  the  countenances  of  persons 
attached  to  the  police.  When  they 
have,  as  was  the  cnse  with  Beausire, 
they  would  not  have  occasion  to  look 
twice  to  perceive  that  the  ones  in  ques- 
tion had  missed  their  aim. 

Beaut-ire  snid  to  himself  that  M.  de 
^rqsne,  having  received  information, 
no.  mattor  how  or  from  whom,  had 
wished  to  have  him  arrested,  and  had 
found  only  Oliva.  Indt  irot.  Hence 
their  disappointment.  (Vrtes,  had 
BeHUBin-  been  in  onMnury  circum- 
stances, had  he  not  had  a  hundred  thou- 
sand livn-s  in  his  porkut,  he  would  have 
thrown  himself  in  the  midst  of  all  these 
alguabiln,  crying  like  Nisus,  'I  am  here! 
1  am  here  !  it  is  I  who  have  done  all!' 
But  the  idea  that  these  people  would 
finger  the  hundred  thousand  livrea,  and 
exult  over  their  success  during  their 


whole  lives — the  idea,  that  the  master- 
stroke which  he,  Buausire,  had  with  BO 
much  audacity  and  skill  performed, 
would  be  for  the  sole  advantage  of  the 
myrmidons  of  the  lieutenant  of  police. 
This  idea  triumphed  over  every  other 
feeling,  and,  we  must  avow  it,  stifled 
eveu  the  bitter  regrets  caused  by  his 
anxious  love. 

'  Let  us  reason,'  said  he  to  himself, 
•  I  allow  myself  to  be  taken — by  that  I 
let  them  take  the  hundred  thousand 
livres — I  do  not  assist  Oliva — I  ruin  my- 
self— I  prove  to  her  that  I  madly  love 
her — and  I  should  deserve  that  sho 
should  say  to  me,  "  You  are  a  brute — 
you  ought  to  have  loved  me  less,  and 
saved  me." ' 

'  Decidedly  ;  it  will  be  better  to  make 
the  best  use  of  my  legs,  and  put  this 
money  in  some  place  of  safety,  for  mo- 
ney is  the  source  of  all  Liberty,  happi- 
ness, philosophy.' 

Saying  this,  Beausire  pressed  the 
bank  notes  to  his  heart,  and  walked  on 
towards  the  Luxembourg,  for  during 
the  last  hour  he  had  only  moved  by  in- 
stinct, and  having  been  an  hundred  time* 
10  the  Luxembourg  Gardens  to  fetch 
Oliva  home,  he  allowed  his  legs  to  con- 
duct him  thither. 

For  a  man  so  eminently  logical,  Lhi* 
was  but  a  poor  reason.' 

And  in  factfjthe  archers  who  knew 
the  habits  of  robbers,  as  well  as  Beau- 
sire  knew  the  habits  of  the  archers, 
would  naturally  have  gone  to  the  Lux- 
embourg in  search  of,  Beausire. 

But  heaven,  or  the  devil,  had  decided 
thftt  M.  de  Crosne  should  not  effect  anj 
thing  against  Beausire  on  this  occasion. 

The  lover  of  Nuole  had  scarcely 
turned  the  corner  of  the  Rue  Saint 
Germain  dos  Pres,  than  he  was  almost 
run  over  by  an  ulegani  carriage,  the 
horses  of  which  were  proudly  prancing 
towards  the  Rue  Dauphine. 

Beausire  had  merety  time  enough, 
thanks  to  that  Parisian  agility  unknown 
to  all  the  rest  of  the  continent  of  Eu- 
rope, to  get  out  of  tho  way  of  the  pole. 
It  is  true  that  he  did  not  escape  the 
oath  and  tho  lash  of  the  coachman's 
whip.  But  the  proprietor  of  a  hundred 
thousand  livre«  does  not  stand  upon 
punctilio  for  tuich  a  trifling  point  of  ho- 
nor, particularly  when  IIH  has  companies 
ut'  th«-  star  guards  and  the  guards  of 
Paris  at  hi.s  hods. 

Beausire,   therefore,  jumped    aside 
bat  while  doing  so,  he  saw  Oliva  and  a 
very  handsome   man  conversing  in  an 
animated  uiuuuer  in  that  very  carriage. 


MYSTERIES  OF  THE  COURT  OF  LOUIS  XVI. 


217 


He  uttered  n  slight  cry,  which  served 
only  to  make  the  horses  go  quicker.  He 
would  have  followed  the  carriage,  but 
it  was  going  towards  the  Rue  Dauphino, 
the  only  street  in  Paris  which  Beausire 
at  that  moment  was  particularly  desir- 
ous to  avo^d. 

We  must,  however,  for  the  moment, 
leave  Beausire  to  pursue  his  peregri- 
nations and  continue  to  indulge  in  his 
profound  meditations,  in  order  to  ac- 
count to  our  readers  for  the  singular 
apparition  of  Mademoiselle  Oliva  in 
this  splendid  equipage,  and  accompanied 
by  a  so  very  handsome  uud  aristocratic 
looking  personage. 


CHAPTER  XLVH. 

UT  WHICH  OLIVA  BEGINS  TO  ASK  HER- 
SELF WHAT  CAN  BE  THE  PART  SHE 
WILL  BE  REQUIRED  TO  ACT. 

It  was,  in  fact,  Mademoiselle  Oliva 
whom  Beausire  had  seen  in  the  car- 
riage, seated  beside  a  person  whom  he 
had  not  recognized  in  the  momentary 
glance  he  had  cast  upon  him,  but  had 
he  had  the  opportunity  of  "catching  a 
second  glimpse  of  him  he  would  assur- 
edly have  remembered  him. 

Oliva,  who  had,  as  was  customary 
with  her,  gone  that  day  to  take  her 
walk  in  the  gardens  of  the  Luxembourg 
Palace,  had  been  detained  there  beyond 
her  dinner  hour,  having  met,  accosted, 
questioned,  and  had  a  long  conversation 
with  the  extraordinary  friend  whose 
acquaintance  she  had  so  mysteriously 
formed  on  the  night  of  the  celebrated 
opera  ball.  She  had,  therefore,  taken 
some  refreshment  in  the  restaurant  at- 
tached to  the  gardens,  and  after  saun- 
tering about  for  some  time  had  hired  a 
chair.* 

She  had  just  paid  the  chairwoman, 
intending  to  return  home  and  was  be- 
stowing a  gracious  smile  on  the  keeper 
of  the  restaurant,  whose  constant  cus- 
tomer she  was,  \vln-n  the  mysterious 
and  seemingly  ubiquitous  Cagliostro, 
advancing  from  one  of  the  walks,  ran 
up  to  her  and  caught  her  by  the-  arm. 

She  uttered  a  i'.iint  scream. 

•  Where  are  you  going  now?'  nuidhe. 

*  In  all  the  public  promt-nudes  nf  Paris,  nnd  on  the 
Boulevards  also,  cluiir.i  an-  Irt  out  HI  two  cor 
to  peri-om  wi.-hiug  to  rest  thfin^-lrpe.     Tli. 
cuttom  prevails  w  nil  the  principal  ttiwnn  ttiruuiih- 
out  France. 


'  Why,  to  the  rue  Dauphene,  to  our 

house.' 

'  That  will  jump  marvellously  well 
with  the  wishes  of  the  people  who  are 
there  waiting  for  you,'  rejoined  the  un- 
known nobleman. 

*  People — wailing  for  me — how  can 
that  be  ?     Why,  there  is  no  one  ex- 
pecting me.' 

'  Oh !  yes.  a  dozen  of  visitors,  at 
least.' 

« A  dozen  visitors,'  cried  Oliva,  «why 
do  you  not  say  a  whole  regiment  at 
once.' 

'  Fail  h,  had  it  been  possible  to  send  a 
regiment  into  the  rue  Dauphine,  it 
would  be  there.' 

'  You  astonish  me !' 

I  You  would  be   much  more   aston- 
ished did  I  allow  you  to  go  to  the  rue 
Dauphine.' 

4  Because  ?' 

4  Because  you  would  to  arrested 
there,  my  dear  Oliva.' 

•Arrested!  I?' 

'Assuredly;  the  twelve  gentlemen 
who  are  waiting  for  you  are.  archera. 
sent  by  the  Lieutenant  of  Police,  M. 
de  Crosne.' 

Oliva  shuddered  ;  certain  people  are 
always  afraid  of  certain  things. 

Nevertheless,  after  having  consulted 
her  conscience  in  every  way,  she.  said 
in  a  firmer  tone, 

I 1  have  done  nothing  wrong.  Where. 
fore  should  they  arrest  me  ?' 

'  Why  do  they  arrest  women  ?  on 
account  of  some  intrigue,  some  miser- 
able trine.' 

'  I  have  no  intrigues.' 

1  But  you  may  have  had  some,  I  sup 
pose  ?' 

« Oh  !  1  do  not  deny  that.' 

'  In  short,  they  may  be  wrong  in  ax. 
resting  you ;  but  the  fact  is,  they  are 
endeavoring  to  arrest  you.  Shall  we 
still  go  to  the  rue  Dnuphine  ?' 

Oliva  stopped,  pale  and  agitated. 

'  You  play  with  me  as  does  a  cat 
with  a  poor  mouse,'  said  she.  '  Coma, 
now,  if  you  know  any  thing,  tell  it  me. 
Is  it  not  Beausire  they  are  trying  to  get 
hold  of?' 

And  she  gazed  at  Cagliostro  with  a 
supplicating  look. 

•  It    may,    indeed,    be    so.     1  should 
rather  suspect  his   conscience    u   not 
quite  so  clear  as  yours.' 

'  Poor  fellow !' 

'Pity  him,  if  you  will,  but  if  he  ha» 
been  arrested,  do  not  follow  his  exam- 
ple by  allowing  yourself  to  be  token  in 
your  turn.' 


•J1LJ. 


Kl-iN  >    .Nt(  KLA<   K  ;  »U.    1  I  IK 


'  But  .vhat  interest  can  you  have  in 
thus  protecting  me  ?  what  interest  can 
you  have  ,in  thus  watching  over  rne  ? 
Come,  now,'  said  she  boldly.  '  it  IB  not 
natural  that  a  man  like  yon'— 

4  Do  not  go  on.    for  you   would  only| 
speak    sheer   folly,    und    moments    an- 
precious  now.  fur  \!    d.      V-  she's  ;i; 
finding    you     io*not    return   home,   nre 
quite  capable  of  •.•>  inin.  ':.•>•<•  in    search 
of  you.' 

'Here  !  they  MIUVV  that.  I  urn  here  ?' 

'A  mighty  wouderfui  thing  indeed, 
that  they  should  know  it,  1  knew  it 
well.  I  will  go  on  with  what  I  was  | 
Baying.  As  I  interest  myself  for  you 
and  wish  you  well,  the  rest  is  no  con- 
cern of  yours.  Quick,  let  us  get  into 
the  rue  d'Enfer.  My  carriage  is  there 
waiting  for  you.  Ah  !  you  doubt  still  ? 

'Yes.' 

'Well  then  :  we  will  do  a  thingv  which 
is  highly  imprudent,  but  which  will, 
once  for  nil,  I  hope,  convince  you  ;  we 
will  pass  before  your  house  in  my  car- 
riage, and  when  you  shall  havo  seen 
these  police  gentlemen,  at  a  sufficient 
distance  not  to  be  taken  by  them,  but 
near  enough  to  judge  of  their  intentions  I 
with  regard  to  you,  you  will  then  esti- 
mate my  intentions  al  their  proper  va- 
lue.' 

And  while  thus  speaking,  he  had  led 
Oliva  to  the  gate  opening  into  the  rue 
d'Enfer.  The  carriage  had  drawn  up, 
received  the  couple  and  conveyed  Cag- 
liostro  and  Oliva  towards  the  rue  Dau- 
phine  to  the  spo'  in  which  Beausiro 
had  seen  them  both. 

Had  he  but  called  loud  enough  at  that 
moment,  had  he  followed  the  carriage, 
Oliva  would  have  done  all  in  her  power 
to  get  to  him,  to  save  him  if  pursued,  or 
if  at  liberty  to  follow  him. 

But  Cugliostro  saw  the  wretched  fel- 
low, and  diverted  Oliva's  attention  from 
him,  by  pointing  to  the  crowd  which 
hurl  already  collected  around  her  door,  j 

The  moment  that  Oliva  perceived  the 
police  soldiers,  and  her  house  invaded 
by  them,  she  threw  herself  into  the 
arms  of  ht-i  ;troieetor  in  .^uch  despair, 
that  it  would  liave  softened  the  heart  of 
>in\  other  but  thi.-  man  of  iron. 

All  he  did  was  to  press  the  hand  of 
l he  terrified  girl,  and  in  order  to  con- 
r'-alher,  pulled  down  thr  (.-••> T'I ;igr.  blinds. 

1  Save  me!  save  me  ."  cried  ;he  pom 
girl,  repi-atedls  . 

•  J  pioinise  yoi'  f  will,"  he  replied. 

.  ieli  me  these  p. dice 
oi'lic er:-  know  every  thing,  they  will  al- 
ways find  me.' 


Oh  .'  by  no  means  ;  in  the  place  that 
you  are  going  to,  no  one  will  discover 
you,  foif  although  they  may  come  to 
your  house  to  take  you.  they  will  not 
venture  into  mine.' 

•Oh!' cried  she  with  terror,  'your 
house — are  we  then  going  to  your 
house  ?' 

•You  are  tmid,'  he  replied;  'one 
would  think  that  you  no  longer  remem- 
ber what  we  had  agreed  upon  together. 
I  am  not  your  lover,  my  good  girl,  and 
never  mean  to  be  so.' 

•Then  'tis  a  prison  you  are  offering 
me.' 

•  it  you  prefer  the  hospital,*  you  are 
free  to  do  so." 

•  Well,  then,'  replied  she,   much  al- 
armed, •  I  surrender  myself  to  you — do 
with  me  as  you  please.' 

He  took  her  to  his  house  in  the   rue-''' 
Neuve-Saint  Gilles,  in  which  we  have 
seen  him  receive  Philippe  de  Taverney. 

When  he  had  installed  her  in  a  small 
apartment  on  l.ho  second  story,  far  from 
the  observation  of  his  servants  : 

•  It  will  be  hard,  but  you  shall  be  hap-_ 
pier  in  future  than  you  will  be  here.' 

•Happier!  And  how  so  .'' cried  she 
with  a  sweliin.  heart.  •  Happy  !  with- 
out liberty ,  or  being  able  to  take  my 
walks  '  It  is  -o  gloomy  here  -not  even 
a  garden  !  I  should  die  here.' 

And  she  threw  a  vague  and  disap- 
point* •  *.  glance  from  the  window  of  the 
room. 

'You  are  right!'  said  he  ;  'it  is  not 
my  wish  you  should  be  deprived  of  any 
thing.  Yon  would  be  uncomfortable 
here,  and  moreover  my  servants  would 
at  last  see  you,  and  inconvenience  you.' 

•  Or  they  might  sell  me  to  the  police,' 
she  added. 

'  As  to  that,  you  need  be  under  no  ap- 
prehension :  my  servants  sell  nothing 
but  what  I  liny  of  them,  my  dear  child; 
but  in  order  that  you  should  enjoy  all 
possible  tranquility,  I  shall  immediately 
occnpv  myself  in  seeking  yon  another 
dwelling.' 

Oliva  appeared  somewhat  consoled  by 
these  promises.  Besides,  ihe  apart- 
ment WHS  comtortable  in  every  respect. 
She  found  there  every  thing  she  could 
desire  :  among  other  things,  some  amun- 
in^  books. 

Her  projector  left  her,  saying  : 

*'I  do  not  mean  to  tame  you  down  by 
starving  von,  dear  child  :  when  you 


no-pital  ol  Saint  l.iizmv  at  'Paris  a 
i  which  women  of  improper  couUuct  ar» 

\V8. 


MYSTERIES  OF  THE  COURT  OF  LOUIS  XVI. 


vrish  to  seo  me,  ring  this  bell ;  if  I  am 
at  home  I  will  immediately  come  to 
you,  if  not,  the  instant  I  return.' 

He  kissed  her  hand,  ami  was  with- 
drawing, 

•Ah!"criod  she, ,  '  let  me  above  all 
have  some  intelligence  of  Beausire.1 

•  It  shall  be  my  first  care,'  replied  the 
count. 

Then,  as  he  was  pensively  descending 
the  stair-  : 

•  It  will  be,'  said  he,  'a  profanation  to 
lodge  her  in  that  house  in  the  rue  Saint 
Claude.     But  it  is  necessary  she  should 
be  seen  by  no  one  ;  if,  on  the  contrary,, 
it  become    necessary  that  one   person 
should  catch  a  glimpse  of  her,  it  must 
be  in  that  house  in  the  rue  Saint  Claude, 
and  in  no  other.     Well,  still  this  one  sa- 
crifice.     Let   us   extinguish    this    last 
spark  of  the  brilliant  lignt  which  in  for- 
mer days  burned  so  ardently.' 

The  count  put  on  a  large  great  coat, 
searched  his  secretary  for  some  keys, 
selected  several,  which  he  gazed  upon 
with  an  afflicted  tenderness,  left  his  ho- 
tel on  foot  and  alone,  and  went  up  the 
rue  Saint  Louis  du  Murais. 

Having  thus  deposited  the  amiable 
Mademoiselle  Oliva  in  a  place  of  per- 
fect security,  safe  from  the  prying  eyes 
of  M.  de  Grosiie,  and  these  were  far 
more  numerous  than  those  of  Argus, 
for  his  myrmidons,  since  the  queen's 
request,  were  searching  in  every  di- 
reotion  for  the  person  who  had  thus 
dared  to  resemble  her  majesty  ;  we  will 
return  to  the  unhappy  lover  of  Oliva, 
whom  we  left  wending  his  way  toward 
'  the  Luxembourg. 

If  M.  Beausire  had  been  pleased  to 
trust  to  the  conviction  of  his  own  eyes, 
which  were  excellent,  instead  of  allow- 
ing his  imagination,  at  that  moment 
confused  and  blinded,  to  persuade  him 
that  he  must  huve  been  mistaken,  he 
would  have  spared  himself  much  sor- 
row and  delusion. 

But  he  went  on  arguing  with  him- 
self against  the  probability  of  its  hav- 
ing been  Olivia  :  how  could  she  have 
been  in  siu-h  a  magnificent  equipage  ? 
it  was  u  perfect  illuoion,  a  phantasma, 
a  mere  coinage  of  his  own  bruin;  he 
said  his  sight  was  troubled,  or  rather 
doubled,  for  he  had  seen  Oliva  where 
•he  was  not . 

He  had  ctill  another  argument  lo  dis- 
prove, the  possibility  of  its  having  been 
Oliva,  for  how  could  it  have  been  her, 
•he  having  been  arrested  by  M.  de 
Crosne's  archers  in  the  rue  Dnuphine. 

Poor  Beaudiro  boiug  both  morully  and 


physically  worn  out,  turned  into  the 
rue  des  Fosses-Monsieur-le-Prince, 
reached  the  Luxembourg,  crossed  the 
already,  deserted  garden,  casting  anxi- 
ous glances  at  the  well-known  spots 
where  ho  had  eo  often  beon  wont  to 
meet  his  beloved  Oliva.  He  then  went 
into  the  Rue  d'Enfer,  hastened  to  place 
the  barrier  between  himself  and  hia  ex- 
pected pursuers,  and  took  up  his  quar- 
ters in  a  small  public-house,  the  mis- 
tress of  which  had  always  been  parti- 
cularly kind  and  attentive  to  him.  Here 
he  felt  more  secure  than  within  the 
walls  of  Paris. 

He  installed  himself  in  a  small  room 
on  the  first  floor  of  thi*  miserable  house, 
and  having  told  his  hostess  that  he  was 
suffering  from  a  severe  cold,  he  should 
wish  to  go  at  once  to  bed,  and  requested 
her  to  send  him  a  bottle  of  mulled  wine. 

When  alone,  he  removed  one  of  the 
tiles  with  which  the  room  was  floored, 
concealed  his  bank  notes  under  it,  pl.ic.od 
the  foot  of  his  bed  upon  this  tile,  and 
went  to  bed  swearing  and  perspiring, 
bur  intermingling  with  his  blasphemous 
oaths  the  most  fenranl  thanks  to  Alt  i- 
cury  for  his  success,  allaying  his  f -ver- 
ish  nausea  by  long  draughts  of  the 
spiced  wine,  a  beverage  well  adapted  <o 
the  excitation  of  perspiration  to  the 
skin  and  to  restore  confidence  to  the 
heart. 

He  felt  sure  that  the  police  would 
never  think  of  searching  for  him  there  ; 
he  was  sure  that  no  one  could  despoil 
him  of  his  treasure. 

He  was  sure,  even  if  Nicole  had  been 
arrested,  that  she  was  guilty  of  no  crime, 
and  that  the  age  for  perpetual  seclu- 
sions had  gone  by. 

Ho  was  sure,  in  short,  that  his  one 
hundred  and  eight  thousand  livres  would 
enable  him  to  release*  his  inseparable 
companion,  his  adored  Olira,  from  a 
prison,  should  she  have  been  unfortu- 
nately immured  in  one. 

There,  then,  remained  his  confede- 
rates of  the  Embassy.  With  them  hii 
.it-count  was  much  more  difficult,  and 
could  not  be  very  satisfactorily  regula- 
ted. 

But  Beausire  had  in  his  <>wn  mind 
made  a  securu  provision  for  this  also ; 
he  had  determined,  as  soon  as  Made- 
moiselle Oliva  hud  gained  her  liberty, 
to  leave  his  dc;u  ussociates  in  France, 
and  go  with  her  to  Switzerland,  that 
free  and  moral  country  where  every 
Bini^r nit  might  feel  assured  of  safety. 

Nothing  of  »tll  thin  Deausire  had  so 
seriously  resolved  whilo  drinking  his 


220 


THE  QUEEN'S  NECKLACE. 


mulled  wine  was  destined  to  take  place  ;   the  wine  had   produced  a  soporific   ef 
fute  hud  decreed  it  otherwise.  feet  cm  poor  Beausire,  and  ho  fell  asleep 

Man    always  commits   the    error    of  j  after  gtWng  a  lust  glance  at  the  tile  ue- 
imagining  that  he  sees  things  when  he  I  ueath  which  reposed  his  treasure. 


does  not  see  thorn.     He  is  still  more  in 


Thus   terminated    the   famous  sham 


«rror  when  iie  imagines  that  he  has  not   Embassy  from  Portugal;  thu8«termina- 
seon  things  which  have  actually  passed  j  ted  the  first  great  jieril  of  THE  Q 
iiiiro  Ills  eyes.  |N£CKLAC£. 

While  mediUitingoa  all  these  matters,  j 


o?- 


University  of  California 

SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 

Return  this  material  to  the  library 

from  which  it  was  borrowed. 


OCTO  1 


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